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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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https://archive.org/details/bakstOOIevi 


\ 


COPYRIGHT 

BY  ALEXANDER  KOGAN 
PUBLISHING  COMPANY,  “RUSSIAN  ART 

BERLIN 


THE  STORY 


O  F 

LEON  BAKST’S 

LIFE 


\ 


I 

PORTRAIT  OF  BAKST  BY  MODIGLIANI 


TEXT 


B  Y 

A  N  D  R  £  LEVINSON 


BRENTANO'S,  NEW  YORK 


THE  AMERICAN  EDITION  OF  THIS  WORK 
CONSISTS  OF  250  NUMBERED  COPIES 


PRINTED  IN  GERMANY 


d> 

DR.  SELLE  a  Co.  A.G.. 
BERLIN 


II 

“CHASTISING  CUPID” 
PROJECT  OF  DECORATIVE  PANEL 


mriON  of  this  work 
*  ;0  M'MBFRFD  COPIES 

Xt 


N  1  F  D  IN  G  I  '.MANY 


I'*L  SFLLE  &  Co  A..G, 


II 

CUM  JO  0/II2IT2A.H0" 

J  MAM  aVITAflOOHQ  MO  TOMIOMU 


PREFACE 


IN  the  book  of  fame,  the  name  of  Leon  Bakst  is  writ  large.  Many 
a  time  and  oft, illustrious  critics  have  heralded  his  praises.  In  speak? 
ing  today  of  the  contribution  made  by  Bakst,  there  is  really 
nothing  that  one  can  add  or  improve  upon.  The  inventory  of  his 
achievements  has  been  completed;  the  unexampled  influence 
which  he  never  ceased  to  exercise  has  been  rightly  evaluated. 
Nevertheless,  there  remains  a  task  which  must  not  be  neglected. 
Paris,  to  be  sure,  enthusiastically  watched  the  development  of  his  art; 


13 


but  for  us,  Russians,  has  been  reserved  the  most  thrilling  experience  of 
all— that  of  chronicling  the  unfolding  of  his  genius.  We  have  here  the 
spectacle  of  a  towering,  unusual,  self-revealing  personality,  and  of  a  style 
that  develops  progressively  and  that  blazes  new  ways  after  bitter  struggles. 

More  than  that,  in  order  to  obtain  a  composite  picture  of  his  work, 
in  order  to  arrive  at  a  general  estimate  of  the  man,  we  must  try 
to  reproduce  the  intimate  atmosphere  of  his  artistic  development, 
the  material  and  intellectual  surroundings  which  shaped  his  course. 

As  a  compatriot  and  contemporary  of  the  master,  I  have,  on  the 
whole,  breathed  this  same  atmosphere.  I  have  been  an  eye-witness 
of  those  earlier  creations  of  his  that  mark  an  epoch  in  the  history  of 
Russian  painting  and  of  the  Russian  theater.  This  knowledge  con¬ 
stitutes  my  qualification  for  attempting  this  biography.  The  latter  would 
be  incomplete  unless  his  childhood  and  adolescence  were  also  to  be 
recalled.  In  so  far  as  this  period  of  his  life  is  concerned,  I  am  reporting 
Bakst’s  own  words ;  with  moderation  I  have  supplied  a  running  comment. 

Thus  these  pages  present  the  first  attempt  at  a  story  of  Bakst’s  life. 


14 


THE  YELLOW  DRAWING  ROOM 


It  was  in  a  dull  and  mediocre  home  of  the  well-to-do  middle 
class  that  our  artist  who,  as  the  originator  of  expensive  pageants  and 
the  dispenser  of  unheard-of  splendor,  was  destined  some  day  to  modify 
profoundly  the  whole  conception  of  the  western  stage,  spent  his  early 
childhood.  Leon  Bakst’s  family  lived  at  Petrograd,  on  Sadovaia 
street.  Now,  there  is  nothing  more  incongruous  than  the  different 
sections  of  the  Russian  capital — “the  most  phantastic  in  the  world,” 
to  use  a  phrase  of  Dostoievski. 

The  Sadovaia  is  a  rather  narrow  but  very  lively  street,  which  cuts  across 
the  market-place  and  is  flanked  by  the  arches  of  three  huge  galleries 
where  countless  small  tradesmen  carry  on  their  business.  Here,  in  the 
adjacent  streets,  in  the  gutters  of  the  sidewalks  which,  depending  upon 
the  time  of  the  year,  were  muddy  or  dusty,  Roskolnikov  lived  his  life 


15 


of  superhuman  anguish;  a  few  steps  from  here,  in  a  gloomy  red  house, 
during  all  of  a  terrible  night  Rogojin  and  Prince  Mishkin  watched  over 
their  murdered  love;  here,  too,  one  day  Nicholas  I,  the  giant-like  autos 
crat  with  the  countenance  of  an  Apollo,  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the 
temple  which  overhangs  Sennaia  Square,  by  a  single  imperious  word 
brought  the  revolting  mob,  which  was  exasperated  by  the  plague  and 
the  shedding  of  blood,  to  their  knees. 

Thus  to  a  dreamer  who  is  haunted  by  memories  the  very  stones  of 
this  district,  which  has  been  the  silent  witness  of  tragic  fates,  whether 
imaginary  or  real,  seemed  to  be  harbingers  of  bad  luck. 

And  yet,  notwithstanding,  there  is  nothing  more  noisily  common? 
place  than  the  daily  routine  in  broad  daylight  of  this  same  Sadovaia: 
large  public  houses,  but  devoid  of  rustic  cheerfulness;  mechanics’ 
shops  in  which  the  songs  had  died.  Dull  boredom  of  an  industri- 
ous  popular  life,  but  how  discolored,  deadened,  and  enervated  by 
the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  this  artificial  town— this  city  of  officials, 
of  soldiers  and  of  ghosts  1 

Nevertheless  the  little  soul  of  the  well-behaved  child,  blocked 
up  though  it  was  by  realities  that  afforded  no  way  out,  possessed 
its  wondrous  sesame,  its  secret  garden.  Every  Saturday  Levoushka 
would  walk  toward  the  Nevsky  Prospect  where,  but  a  few  steps  from 
General  Army  Headquarters  with  its  imposing  semi-circular  facade 
of  red,  from  Winter  Palace  Square,  and  from  the  Admiralty— a 
veritable  fairy-land  of  lofty  architecture—,  his  grandfather  lived,  a 
noble  and  vaguely  mysterious  being  who,  without  in  the  least  being 
conscious  of  it,  awakened  in  the  future  artist  a  reverence  for  Beauty, 
a  holy  fear  of  the  Unknown. 

The  child  thus  came  into  unusual  surroundings  which  constituted 

the  artificial  paradise  of  his  early  life.  WBatever  it  was — precocious 

influence  or  atavism-this  fascination  dominated  the  life  of  Bakst 

and  at  least  decided  his  calling.  At  any  rate  the  master  himself, 

who  one  da^  told  me  at  length  about  his  earliest  recollections, 
seems  to  think  so. 

His  grandfather,  a  peculiar  fellow,  was  a  Parisian  of  the  Second 
Empire,  a  man  of  society  who,  it  may  well  be,  not  long  ago  had  been 

16 


out  walking  with  the  Mornys  and  the  Paivas.  An  amiable  Epicurean 
he  was,  a  man  of  fine  discernment  in  the  manner  of  his  time,  who  had 
set  up  a  retreat  for  himself  at  Petrograd  that  was  well  adapted  to  his 
ineffaceable  memories. 

Everything  in  this  home  of  dreams  appealed  to  the  sensibilities 
of  the  child— the  brocaded  silks,  the  graceful  and  heavily  gilded 
trinkets.  But  his  greatest  delight  was  the  large  gilded  parlor,  with 
panels  of  yellow  tapestry,  with  furniture  of  rock  and  shelbwork  in 
the  style  of  1860,  with  its  white  marble,  its  yellow  flower  stand, 
filled  at  all  times  with  rare  plants,  and  (this  constituted  his  supreme 
happiness)  its  four  gilded  cages  in  which  canary  birds  were  chirping. 
In  a  corner,  on  a  stand,  a  large  model  of  the  Temple  of  Salomon 
displayed  its  imaginative  architecture.  A  large  painting  had  for  its 
subject  the  lament  of  the  Jews  before  the  demolished  walls  of  Zion, 
for  the  former  Parisian  “lion”  did  not  renounce  his  race;  he  had  not 
forgotten  Jeremiah  over  Theresa. 

The  irritable  old  man  at  times  scared  the  impulsive  and  vivacious 
urchin;  kindhearted  old  grouch  that  he  was,  he  often  angrily  charged 
the  wretched  disorder  up  to  the  young  lad.  Levoushka  was  therefore  not 
sorry  to  see  his  grandfather  leave  for  his  customary  Saturday  promenade, 
for  this  was  indeed  the  right  moment  for  him  to  make  the  large  clock, 
with  its  mechanical  doll,  ring,  and  to  wind  up  the  music  boxes  of 
every  description  that  were  to  be  found  in  the  yellow  drawing  room. 

His  own  home  furnished  Leon  no  such  emotions.  Besides,  the 
indifference  to  matters  of  art  was  practically  general  in  the  Russian  in? 
tellectual  classes  of  that  time.  The  grandfather  was  therefore  the  idol 
of  the  child,  his  sole  arbiter  of  good  taste.  No  sooner  had  he  returned 
home,  than  Levoushka  would  turn  his  room  upside  down  and  would 
try  to  arrange  his  modest  furniture  according  to  the  exquisite  aesthetic 
principles  of  the  yellow  drawing  room;  and  he  would  try  to  hide  from 
view  the  things  that  were  devoid  of  beauty. 

Yet  throughout  all  this  there  was  never  any  idea  of  painting.  Later, 
his  grandfather  never  got  to  know  that  Bakst  was  sketching.  Meanwhile 
Leon  was  about  to  become  ten  years  old.  His  entry  into  school  put  an 
end  to  his  weekly  pilgrimages  to  the  N evsky  Prospect.  Sesame  had  closed. 


17 


THE  UNGRATEFUL  AGE 

No  sooner  had  Leon  become  encased  in  the  uniform  which  distin* 
guishes  the  city  student  from  the  provincial  youngster  in  gray— viz.,  a 
black  blouse  with  silver  buttons  ,  than  he  came  to  know  the  mono* 
tonous  and  depressing  life  of  the  Russian  schoolboy:  rising  by  lamp* 
light  during  the  long  winter  months;  returning  with  his  schoobbag  on 
his  back;  suffering  the  petty  annoyances  of  an  oppressive  discipline 
and  the  black  boredom  of  official  education. 

It  was  then  that  he  discovered  the  theater.  Not  that  he  had  ever 
been  there.  Like  everybody  else,  his  family  had  subscribed  to  a  season 
ticket  at  the  Italian  Opera  which  was  then  at  the  height  of  favor  and 
which  eclipsed  all  efforts  of  an  unappreciated  national  music  to  win  its 
way;  but  our  hero,  being  too  small,  was  not  allowed  to  go  to  the  family 
box.  With  great  difficulty,  however,  he  had  gained  the  privilege  of 
staying  up  on  Mondays— the  days  on  which  his  family  had  the  box— 
until  their  return.  With  delight  he  would  then  listen  to  his  brother’s 
account  of  the  “Puritans”  or  the  “Favorita”  and  their  tragical  and 
pompous  vicissitudes. 

Tired  of  listening  without  acting,  he  constructed  his  own  theater. 
He  cut  out  his  heroes  from  the  sheets  of  colored  paper  soldiers,  his 
princesses  from  the  engravings  in  popular  fairy  tales  illustrated  at 
Epinal,  his  court  ladies  from  the  fashion  magazines.  Then  he  would 
place  his  actors  on  a  paste  board  stage  and  “brush  in”  the  scenery  in 
water  color  with  paint  plundered  from  his  color*box.  The  subjects 
were  plentifully  provided  by  the  librettos  of  Verdi’s  operas,  augmented 
by  supplementary  murders.  As  for  the  audience— it  was  never  lacking, 
Leon  having  always  been  the  appointed  and  recognized  entertainer  of 
his  little  sisters. 

This  play  of  make*believe  did  not,  however,  entirely  satisfy  his 
precocious  ardor.  The  strong  desire  for  disguising  and  masking  is,  after 
all,  quite  general  among  children,  who  possess  a  genius  for  dramatizing 
the  facts  of  life.  Improvised  plays  were,  therefore,  put  on.  The  most 
frequently  recurring  motif  was  the  visit  of  the  doctor.  There  was  much 


18 


D'ANNUNZIO'S  “MARTYRDOjVl  OF  ST.  SEBASTIAN”  (MME.  RUBINSTEIN  IN  THE  5th  ACT). 


.(TOA  flic.  3HT  '/II  MIHT<MI8U>I  .3MM)  "XAHV./  'K-IA  .'IV,  TO  /^OCJ»YT>IAM“  d'OIX/'JZ /A'd 


TH  E  RATEFUL  AGE 


in.  ,  encased  in  the  uniform  which  distm* 


it  provincial  youngster  in  gray— viz.,  a 
'ons— ,  than  he  came  to  know  the  mono* 
**  liU  of  the  Russian  schoolboy:  rising  by  lamp* 
i  .  '  inter  months;  returning  with  hr-  <  hoobbag  on 
u  :  he  petty  annoyances  of  an  oppressive  discipline 
'  recom  of  official  education. 

*  he  discovered  the  theater.  Not  that  he  id  ever 
I  ke  everybody  else,  his  family  bad  subscribe  1  to  a  season 


} .  i  ian  Opera  which  v 
,  d  all  efforts  of 
hero,  bein 
i  great  diffi 
•  v  *  m  on  Mon 
ir  return, 
of  the  “P 
uus  vicissitude^ 

Tired  of  listenin 
n  out  his  heroe 
1  •  r cesses  from  the  en 

k  his  court  ladies  from 


heigh  t  of  tavor  and 
1  music  to  win  its 
o  to  the  family 
privilege  of 
the  box- 
brother’s 
tragical  and 

wn  theater, 
soldiers,  his 
s  ll  ustrated  at 

Then  he  would 

his  actors  on  a  paste  board  stage  and  ush  in’  the  scenery  in 

.  u  color  with  paint  plundered  from  his  u  or*box.  The  subjects 
h ere  plentifully  provided  by  the  librettos  of  neras,  augmented 

hv  s:  pplementary  murders.  As  for  the  audienc  t  was  never  lacking, 

i  eon  having  always  been  the  appointed  an<  ved  entertainer  of 

his  little  sisters. 


ITiis  play  of  make*beiieve  did  not,  however,  entirely  satisfy  his 
precocious  ardor.  The  strong  desire  for  disgu  sing  and  masking  is,  after 
ail.  quite  general  among  children,  who  posses  •  a  genius  for  dramatizing 
the  facts  of  life.  Improvised,plays  were,  therefore,  put  on.  The  most 
frequently  recurring  motif  was  the  visit  of  the  There  was  much 

18 


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illness  at  Leon’s  homel  Young  Leon,  besides  being  stage  manager, 
would  now  play  the  role  of  the-  doctor  with  black  robe,  now  that  of 
the  druggist,  now  even,  with  self-denial,  the  rather  contemptible  part 
of  the  patient. 

One  day,  as  he  had  concocted  a  drug  by  diluting  green  coloring 
matter,  he  pursued  realism  to  the  point  of  swallowing  the  concoction.  He 
fell  ill.  Only  with  the  greatest  effort  in  the  world  was  it  possible  to  save 
him  by  making  him  drink  a  quantity  of  milk. 

Throughout  all  this,  however,  we  do  not  yet  see  the  painter  come  to 
the  fore.  Indeed,  our  schoolboy  was  decidedly  not  a  success  at  drawing, 


23 


REMEMBRANCE  (“ELYSIUM”  CYCLE) 


and  with  envy  he  watched  how  his  chums  sketched  fine  battle  scenes  upon 
the  margins  of  their  note  books.  His  life’s  calling  announced  itself  for 
the  first  time  when  he  was  almost  twelve  years  old.  His  school,  known 
as  “the  sixth  gymnasium”,  was  making  preparations  to  celebrate  the 


24 


ETERNAL  WANDERERS  (“ELYSIUM”  CYCLE) 


centenary  of  Joukovsky,  the  celebrated  Russian  poet.  A  good  portrait 
was  wanted  for  the  ceremony.  Accordingly,  a  prize  competition  was 
organized.  Bakst  decided  to  enter  it.  He  reverently  took  home  the  little 
engraving  which  was  to  serve  as  model,  and  four  or  five  days  later  he 


25 


brought  back  his  drawing.  The  prize  was  awarded  him,  and  his  master* 
piece  put  in  a  glass  frame  and  hung  in  the  gymnastic  hall.  From  then 
on  Bakst  was  unanimously  proclaimed  a  painter,  and  he  was  able  to 
pride  himself  on  winning  many  a  prize. 

Leon’s  father  was  not  much  pleased  over  this  sort  of  success,  especi* 
ally  since  bad  marks  were  raining  thick  in  the  other  studies.  He  con* 
ceived  the  notion  that  his  son’s  predilection  for  drawing  was  due  to 
sheer  laziness.  He  therefore  positively  forbade  him  this  pastime  which, 
he  argued,  interfered  with  serious  studies.  Leon  therefore  continued 
drawing  in  secret,  at  night*time,  by  the  light  of  a  candle. 

On  the  other  hand  his  accomplishments  brought  him  the  friendship 
of  his  drawing  and  penmanship  teacher,  who  became  much  attached  to 
the  youngster.  Andrei  Andreevitch  was  a  diminutive  little  man  with 
bowlegs;  but  this  tail*coated  freak  in  blue  was  fired  with  a  divine  enthu* 
siasm.  Striding  about  the  class  room  he  would  talk  incessantly  to  the 
pupils,  now  pondering  the  volutes  of  an  acanthus  leaf,  now  discussing 
the  lives  of  great  painters,  their  struggles,  their  triumphs.  So  volubly 
and  so  well  did  he  speak  that  he  stirred  deeply  the  imaginative  soul  of 
little  Bakst  and  awakened  all  the  latent  passion  in  him.  Subsequently, 
the  artist’s  entire  magnificent  life  was  to  be  animated,  as  it  were,  by  these 
rhythmic  fits  of  intellectual  fever,  from  which  he  was  to  emerge  renewed, 
transformed,  his  mind’s  eye  turned  toward  unexplored  horizons. 

The  profession  of  painting,  therefore,  suddenly  appeared  to  Le* 
voushka  to  be  the  highest  of  all  destinies— one  bearing  the  halo  of 
heroism.  Filled  with  this  romantic  dream,  he  was  anxious  to  quit 
school  at  once.  And  he  insisted  with  such  impetuosity  that  his  parents, 
routed  in  the  argument,  decided  by  way  of  setting  him  right  to  seek 
the  advice  of  the  sculptor  Marc  Antokolsky,  a  friend  of  the  family  and 
a  recognized  authority  on  all  matters  pertaining  to  art.  The  late 
Antokolsky  was  little  known  in  Paris  where  he  used  to  live,  nor  do 
people  care  much  about  him  in  Russia  today,  although  his  works,  which 
are  quite  numerous,  fill  the  museums  of  Moscow  and  especially  of 
Petrograd.  So  deceptive  is  artistic  glory! 

For  indeed,  he  had  his  day  of  glory.  In  Russia  he  was  the  sculptor 
of  the  century— of  that  nineteenth  century  which  had  lost  the  plastic 

26 


“FORSAKEN  CHLOE”.  PROJECT  OF  DECORATIVE  PANEL.  (GOUACHE) 


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arts  almost  completely.  The  conception  of  a  strict  naturalism  placed 
at  the  service  of  humanitarian  and  social  ideals,  dominated  by  the  idol 
People,  a  conception  that  also  characterized  the  notable  and  prophetic 
“Association  des  expositions  ambulantes”,  was  also  his. 
Moreover,  Stassov,  the  voluble  and  prolix  critic  who  composed  for  the 
great  Moussorgsky  the  monstrously  confused  text  of  “Khovanshchina”, 
turned  Antokolsky’s  mind  toward  Russian  history. 

And  thus,  through  his  bronze  and  marble  sculptures,  Antokolsky 
became  the  historical  illustrator  and  portraitist  of  Russia.  He  wrought 
Ivan  the  Terrible,  Nestor  the  Annalist,  Peter  the  Great,  and  even 
Ermak  the  Cossack,  conqueror  of  Siberia.  With  keen  psychological 
sense  he  also  composed  the  likenesses  of  heroes  and  martyrs  of 
free  thought:  a  dying  Socrates,  a  Spinoza  and  a  Christ  insulted,  the 
latter  work  being  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  Strauss  and  Renan.  All 
these  monumental  figures  which  greatly  stirred  his  contemporaries  no 
longer  show  any  signs  of  life. 

There  remains  the  personality  of  Antokolsky,  which  was  in  every 
respect  a  pure  one.  Not  without  reason  did  this  poor  and  pertinacious 
young  Jew,  who  hardly  knew  how  to  write  Russian,  become  the  idol 
and  the  oracle  of  two  generations.  We  see  but  too  clearly  today  that 
he  travelled  the  wrong  road.  But  he  had  faith.  His  artistic  convictions 
were  unalterable,  unselfish,  absolute,— those  of  a  fanatic.  More  than 
that — a  thing  seldom  to  be  found — ,  this  fanatic  was  kindness  itself. 

Antokolsky,  then,  on  being  consulted  made  much  of  the  mis* 
fortunes  and  bitter  disappointments  that  one  embarking  upon  an 
artistic  career  must  expect.  But  he  was  not  unwilling  to  look  Leon’s 
drawings  over.  Pestered  by  the  youngster,  his  father  sent  several 
sketches  to  Paris.  Lo  and  behold!  when  the  reply,  so  anxiously  await* 
ed  by  the  boy,  arrived,  it  was  favorable,  decisive,  almost  intoxicat* 
ing.  The  master  had  found  the  drawings  quite  well  done  and  advised 
the  boy’s  going  to  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  on  condition,  however, 
that  he  pursue  his  general  education. 

Thus  Leon,  the  intractable  and  mediocre  schoolboy  of  the  day  before, 
was  to  become  a  painter,  a  chosen  and  quasi*legendary  being.  He  was 
then  sixteen  years  of  age. 


31 


THE  TWO  SPHINXES 

Leon,  then,  presented  himself  for  examination  but  failed.  Before 
being  admitted  to  another  test  he  had  for  a  year  to  practice  drawing 
from  models;  and  only  after  he  had  solved  the  mysteries  of  this  form 
of  academic  discipline,  was  he  admitted.  For  another  year  he  kept 
abreast  of  both  his  artistic  studies  and  his  general  secondary  education ; 
soon,  however,  he  neglected  school  and,  after  a  few  feeble  attempts, 
gave  it  up  altogether.  Let  us  state  the  fact  without  bitterness:  Bakst 
never  received  the  Bachelor’s  degree. 

The  first  day  that  Bakst,  attired  in  his  new  green  uniform,  wended 
his  way  along  the  granite  embankment  toward  the  Academy  and,  hav* 
ing  passed  under  the  eyes  of  the  two  Sphinxes  from  Thebes  with  a 
hundred  gates  which  guard  the  sanctuary,  decided  to  enter,  his  aston* 
ishment  and  his  proud  ecstasy  knew  no  bounds.  However,  despite  the 
grand  pretense  of  a  temple,  the  Imperial  Academy  of  1890  was  a  rather 
curious  institution. 

The  academic  instruction  which  flourished  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century,  maintained  its  power  and  authority  until  the  close  of  Nicholas 
I  s  reign.  But  from  1863  on  it  was  badly  shaken  by  the  famous  secession 
of  the  Thirteen  ,  with  Kramskoi  at  the  head.  These  thirteen  later 
became  the  first  “wanderers”;  they  were  destined  to  herald  the  arrival 
of  a  certain  humanitarian  realism  closely  related  to  the  teachings  of 
Proudhon  and  of  Courbet.  They  professed  the  haughtiest  contempt 
for  disinterested  pictorial  beauty,  for  mere  virtuosity,  yes,  even  for 
sound  craftmanship  based  upon  traditional  experience. 

Among  the  pompiers  classicism  had  degenerated  into  hackneyed 
copying,  teaching  became  vulgar  pedantry.  Among  the  revolutionaries 
classicism  was  the  complete  and  absolute  negation  of  art,  admitted  only 
as  a  function  of  social  apostleship.  But  the  younger  artists  had  public 
opinion  behind  them,  which  hailed  the  catastrophe  as  a  liberation.  Yet 
for  thirty  years  the  Academy,  powerful  solely  because  of  its  official 

authority,  continued  to  stick  to  the  past  and  to  live  outside  the  pale  of 
a  throbbing  artistic  life. 


32 


Not  until  1893  did  the  “wanderers”,  led  by  Makovsky  and  Repine, 
enter  the  citadel  in  order  to  establish  a  bold  and  frank  dilettantism 
while  still  respecting  the  remnants  of  the  old  Academy.  At  that  time 
Bakst  had  already  broken  with  his  first  masters;  we  shall  soon  see  why. 

Let  us  first,  however,  briefly  complete  the  history  of  the  institution 
on  the  Nicholas  Embankment.  Toward  1910  a  reaction  set  in  against 
the  anarchy  of  the  “wanderers”  and  in  favor  of  a  classic  revival,  of  a 
rehabilitation  of  craftmanship.  This  movement  was  of  short  duration, 
however,  for  the  October  Revolution  abolished  the  Academy  and  estab- 
lished  free  studios  upon  its  ruins,  the  management  of  which  was 
placed  in  the  hands  of  artists  who  supported  the  Communist  regime. 
On  the  day  of  its  death  the  Russian  Imperial  Academy  was  more  than 
150  years  old. 

Thus,  at  the  Fine  Arts  School,  Bakst  found  a  training  that  clung  to 
unchanged  formulae,  but  that  was  decadent,  inert,  and  lifeless.  He  spent 
three  months  drawing  from  bas-reliefs  and  one  year  sketching  models. 
Then,  after  having  passed  the  class  in  costumes  and  copied  draped 
mannequins,  he  was  admitted  to  the  studio  class.  His  teacher,  Tchistia- 
koff,  did  not  encourage  him  to  continue;  he  considered  Bakst  a  promis¬ 
ing  sculptor,  and  whenever  his  pupil  tried  to  talk  painting  to  him,  he 
would  invariably  turn  the  conversation  to  sculpture.  Tchistiakoff’s 
colleague,  Venig,  was  more  far-sighted  and,  while  disapproving  of  a 
certain  vivacity  and  truculence  of  colors  which  netted  young  Bakst  the 
ironical  title  of  “Rubens  newly  ground”,  he  was  not  unfriendly  to  him. 
This  meant  a  great  deal,  for  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  any  more  in¬ 
timate  relations — any  communion  of  ideas  or  of  feelings— between  the 
pope-like  officials  and  their  pupils  who  were  as  yet  unknown  quantities. 

Far  more  important  were  his  relations  with  his  fellow  students,  espe¬ 
cially  with  the  class  that  was  about  to  leave.  At  school  and  at  his  patern¬ 
al  home  he  had  been  placed  in  a  position  of  isolation  because  of  his 
artistic  aspirations;  here  he  found  himself  surrounded  by  young  people 
devoted  to  that  same  art  that  was  viewed  with  such  suspicion  by  the 
Russian  intellectuals  of  yesteryear.  At  the  Academy  Bakst  met  Neste- 
roff  who,  following  Vasnetzoff  and  contemporaneous  with  Vroubel,  was 
to  attempt  a  revival  of  the  ikon, — a  revival  which,  besides  proving 


33 


abortive,  was  more  in  the  nature  of  sentimental  and  artificial  imitation. 
This  craze  for  old  national  art  went  hand  in  hand  among  certain  stu- 
dents  with  a  strong  animosity  against  the  “meteques”;  besides,  anti* 
Semitism  was  officially  encouraged  and  stimulated,  since  it  served  to 
side-track  the  hatred  which  was  more  and  more  undermining  the  auto¬ 
cratic  power.  Bakst,  sensitive  and  meticulous,  was  grieved  at  this.  He 
therefore  clung  all  the  more  closely  to  Seroff,  several  years  his  senior, 
who  was  finishing  his  education  and  who  aspired  to  winning  the  Grand 
Prize  for  Painting— the  gold  medal.  This  future  portraitist  was  a  son  of 
the  celebrated  musician  whose  masterpiece,  “Judith”,  is  known  to 
Parisians  only  by  partial  selections.  Already  he  had  achieved,  in  the  eyes 
of  his  fellow  students,  the  intellectual  and  moral  prestige  that  was  due  to 
the  uprightness — albeit  somewhat  morose — of  his  character  andthe  tenac¬ 
ity  of  his  effort.  Soon,  indeed,  he  came  to  the  forefront  of  his  generation. 

This  man,  already  matured,  reserved,  and  little  given  to  effusive 
outbursts,  took  a  fancy  to  the  red  haired  young  lad.  The  pair  would  sit 
together  in  the  studio;  they  would  spend  the  evenings  chatting  in  the 
modest  students’  apartment  where  Seroff  lived  and  drinking  plenty  of 
tea.  Those  were  the  happy  days!  They  lasted  for  eighteen  months.. 
Clouds  were,  however,  gathering  over  the  head  of  Bakst  who  had 
already  given  repeated  offense  to  his  superiors  by  his  whims  of 
independence.  A  free  competition  was  announced  in  which  “The 
Madonna  Weeping  Over  Christ”  was  to  be  the  subject  and  the  Grand 
Medal  of  silver  the  prize.  Bakst  joined  the  competitors. 

He  sought  inspiration  from  those  artists  of  his  time  who  had  attempted 
a  revival  of  religious  subjects  by  displaying  a  realistic  setting— thus 
breaking  away  from  the  iconographic  traditions  of  the  Renaissance — , 
by  giving  care  to  ethnographic  detail, by  minutely  studying  the  expression 
observed.  These  artists  included  Repine  and  Polienoff  in  Russia,  and 
Munkaczy  abroad.  But,  carried  away  by  a  youthful  enthusiasm,  he 
wished  to  go  beyond  the  fastidious  and  cautious  realism  of  these  paint¬ 
ers  and  make  a  ten-strike. 

He  therefore  chose  a  canvas  of  enormous  dimensions — almost  seven 
feet  in  length— and  plunged  into  his  work.  For  the  characters  of  the  legend 
he  set  down  Jewish  types  that  were  obviously  overdone,  and  imparted 


34 


vn 

“MODERN  DRESS”  (A  “FANTAISIE”) 


f  and  artificial  im 
i  hand  among  itu* 


deques 

cd  to 
e  autos: 
his.  He 
;  •  i  s  sen  or, 
ho  aspired  r  rhe  Grand 

future  ;  is  a  son  of 

known  to 
m  the  <  yes 
*<?t  was  due  to 
{ nd the  tei  ac* 
s  generation. 
3  to  effusive 
v  'h  air  would  sit 
ratting  1  the 
4  .mg  p  enP  of 
teen  nn  nths 
$  'Cst  w  o  had 
\is  wf  rns  of 
which  The 
1  id  the  Grand 

>h ad  attempted 
displaying  a  £  etting — thus 


1  dil.o:  '  aissant  e--  , 

>>  ninutelyst  £  A  eexpres^ion 

Russia,  and 

• 

e  paints* 

%t  seven 
?gend 
’fted 


iiv 

("■I181AT;4AT‘  A)  "883^(1  Mfl3CIOM“ 


VIII 

‘DAPHNIS  AND  CHLOE  PARTING  IN  THE  EVENING".  SKETCH  FOR  DECORATIVE  PANEL  (GOUACHE), 


W&HMI8  VMD  CHrOE  BVKJLIKG  IM  XHE  EAEMIMC.,'  2KEECH  EOK  DECOtTALIAE  EYMET  (GOflVCHE)’ 

AII1 


a  movement  to  them  that  imitated  the  gesticulation  of  Lithuanian  cloth? 
ing  merchants  or  of  elders  in  the  synagogue.  As  to  the  Virgin,  she  was 
an  old,  dishevelled  woman,  with  eyes  red  from  weeping.  Our  candidate 
was,  to  be  sure,  vaguely  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he  was  digging  his 
own  grave;  nevertheless  he  obstinately  persisted  in  his  daring  attempt. 


"SYRENS”.  PROJECT  OF  PANNEAU. 


What  anguish  he  suffered  while  he  awaited  the  decision  of  the 
jury  on  the  winding  staircase  that  constituted  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  for 
the  young  daubers  of  Petrograd! 

And  justly  so,  for  when  his  name  was  called  and  he  appeared 
before  the  tribunal,  he  saw  his  canvas  crossed  out  by  two  furious 
strokes  of  crayon,  and  he  had  to  listen  to  an  official  rebuke  by  the 
president. 

The  next  day  he  quit  the  Academy  under  the  impassive  glances 
of  the  two  bearded  sphinxes  of  pink  marble,  emerging  from  the 
gloomy  twilight. 


39 


A  HUT  (SAVOY).  DRAWING 


A  WRONG  START 


Leon  was  free  now  and  left  alone  with  his  pride  in  his  recent  revolt; 
but  there  was  also  a  great  void  in  his  soul.  A  country  holiday  out  at 
Pavlovsk,  the  delightful  suburban  residence  district  where  Constantine, 
the  grand  duke^poet,  lived,  afforded  him  salutary  diversion.  In  the 
beautiful  English  park —  the  loveliest  in  all  Russia—,  where  every 
clump  of  trees,  every  hill,  every  lawn  forms  part  of  a  grandly^devised 
and  complex  general  plan  conceived  by  an  architectural  genius;  in  this 
park,  in  which  he  walked  about  carrying  the  burden  of  his  liberty — 
a  melancholy  figure,  he  found  what  he  lacked  most:  a  friend.  This 
new* found  friend  was  a  cartoonist  by  the  name  of  Shpak,  a  pupil  of 
Repine,  and,  though  but  a  mediocre  artist,  yet  one  who  gave  himself  to 
painting  with  a  passionate  and  unselfish  spirit.  He  guided  Bakst  in 
looking  for  motifs,  spurred  him  on  to  direct  observation  of  Nature, 
and  awakened  in  him  the  proper  respect  for  his  profession.  But 
this  influence  soon  gave  way  to  another. 


40 


HUTS  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  (SAVOY).  DRAWING 


Luck  would  have  it  that  Bakst,  during  that  same  autumn ,  chanced 
to  meet  Albert  Nikolaievitch  Benois,  the  celebrated  watercolorist  who 
had  no  rival  in  Russia.  He  was  a  member  of  that  “dynasty”  of  Benoises 
who  have  played  so  prominent  a  part  in  the  artistic  development  of 
Russia.  Albert  Benois,  a  handsome,  chivalrous  and  affable  man,  handled 
the  brush  with  remarkable  ease.  He  possessed  a  technique  that  was 
as  natural  for  him  as  bel  canto  singing  is  to  the  Neapolitan  beggar. 
But  while  his  productions,  at  the  same  time  that  they  possessed  certain 
qualities  of  good  taste  and  true  knowledge  of  his  art,  nevertheless 
were  rather  too  tame,  their  success  in  the  eyes  of  the  public  was  com? 
plete.  This  success  of  the  “master”,  who  was  feted  and  flattered  by  his 
aristocratic  and  feminine  entourage,  and  who  was  unanimously 
elected  to  the  presidency  of  the  society  of  water^color  painters,  dazzled 
young  Bakst,  blunted  for  a  while  in  him  the  haughty  pride  of  the 
seeker  after  new  truths,  and  stimulated  other  ambitions  in  him.  The 
fierce  rebel  who  sneered  at  the  Academy  suddenly  craved  Success! 

He  achieved  a  success  that  was  immediate,  brilliant,  and  disastrous. 
Soon  he  began  to  neglect  landscape  painting  in  favor  of  the  society 


41 


portrait.  Having  tasted  the  apple,  he  next  painted  Eve.  And,  as  he 
abandoned  himself  to  these  effeminate  and  futile  pursuits  with  that 
same  insatiable  fervor  with  which  he  went  into  everything,  he  under? 
took,  he  simply  allowed  himself  to  drift.  Besides,  his  good  friend 
Shpak  was  no  longer  there  to  awaken  his  sleeping  artistic  conscience— 
he  had  died  quite  suddenly.  Serov,  too,  was  far  away  in  Moscow  and 
unable  to  warn  him. 

When  I  questioned  him  about  this  period  of  his  life  of  which  there 
are  few  traces  left,  Bakst  spoke  about  them  quite  eloquently,  yes,  even 
persistently.  He  took  evident  pleasure  in  this  confession;  he  seemed 
even  to  relish  the  mortification  that  it  must  have  cost.  Was  it  that  in 
this  race  toward  the  abyss  he  tasted  something  of  that  spirit  of  adventure, 
of  that  happy  faculty  of  spending  without  counting,  of  giving  oneself 
body  and  soul  to  God  or  the  Devil,  which,  indeed,  was  a  part  of  his 
nature?  Or  was  he  dreaming  of  those  pretty  hands  of  women,  slender 
but  strong,  which  stroked  his  curly  hair?  As  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
we  must  content  ourselves  with  recounting  briefly  the  outstanding 
facts  in  the  early  history  of  our  friend  and  hero. 

The  most  important  of  these  is  a  long  stay  abroad.  At  Paris  he 
made  friends  with  Albert  Edelfeldt,  a  Finnish  painter  and  a  remark? 
able  man,  to  whose  lot  it  fell  to  break  the  ground  for  the  birth  of  a 
national  art  in  his  own  country,  in  that  he  transmitted  to  it  the  enlight? 
ened  knowledge  of  France.  It  should  be  noted  in  passing  that  all 
the  Norse  revivals  which  endowed  the  Scandinavian  countries  with 
an  intense  and  original  artistic  life  had  their  origin  on  the  banks  of 
the  Seine.  Edelfeldt  was  neither  a  creative  genius  nor  an  artist  in  the 
vanguard.  He  stuck  to  the  cautious  methods  of  a  Bastien? Lepage. 
But  he  was  a  forceful  and  able  painter.  Some  of  his  canvases  are 
to  be  found  in  Paris,  among  them,  if  I  remember  correctly,  his 
portrait  of  Pasteur. 

The  habit  of  working  outdoors,  the  study  of  daylight  and  its  effect 
upon  massive  subjects  which  Bakst  pursued  with  his  new  friend  who 
also  in  some  respects  became  his  teacher,  contributed  powerfully  toward 
his  success  in  performing  the  enormous  task  that  was  soon  thrust  upon 
his  youthful  energy.  The  Russian  government  asked  the  Prodigal  Son 


42 


' 

•  •  ’  •  '  -  c-  'rv  em e- 

a  '  m  Most  -  -K 

h  .St  v 

:>  . !  ••cjuently,  >  ^  ■  evu-* 


XI 

(3HOArJOD)  .H0UHU3  T8MI3  .THJJA3  "aCIASAXaHaHS" 


9 


AN  INFERIOR  DEITY. 


“NARCISSUS”  BALLET.  (GOUACHE) 


I 


of  the  Imperial  Academy  to  paint  a  canvas  that  was  to  have  for  its 
subject  the  arrival  of  Admiral  Avellan  in  Paris. 

Perhaps  the  reader  remembers  that  this  visit  which,  unless  I  am  very 
much  mistaken,  took  place  in  1893,  was  one  of  the  first  formal  cere? 
monies  arranged  in  connection  with  the  nascent  Russo?French  alliance. 
This  canvas,  the  result  of  painstaking  and  honest  labor,  which  displays 
a  freshness  of  color  and  a  virtuosity  of  touch  that  is  by  no  means 
vulgar,  is  preserved  today  in  the  Navy  Museum  at  Petrograd.  Was  the 
young  rebel  of  yesterday  to  become  the  Roll  or  the  Mentzel  of  the 
imperial  fastes?  Today  we  know  that  nothing  of  the  sort  happened. 

One  afternoon  as  Bakst,  back  from  Paris,  was  lording  it  over  a  tea 
table  surrounded  by  beautiful  ladies,  and  was  basking  in  the  sunshine 
of  his  reputation,  with  flattering  chatter  all  about  him,  he  noticed  a 
young  man  enter  whose  manners  at  first  offended  him.  With  a  monocle 
in  his  eye,  with  haughty  pride  writ  across  his  dark? complected  face, 
round?shouldered,  attired  in  the  student’s  green  blouse  with  blue  collar, 
he  carried  on  the  conversation  with  an  ease  that  bordered  upon  disdain 
and  insult.  Yet  in  the  very  arrogance  of  the  young  upstart  there  was 
something  that  fascinated.  Bakst  took  him  aside  and,  when  he  pressed 
him  for  an  expression  of  opinion  as  to  what  he  thought  of  his  painting, 
the  young  man  replied  candidly  that,  while  he  had  the  profoundest 
respect  for  the  technical  mastery  of  his  questioner,  the  painting  itself 
absolutely  displeased  him,  and  for  good  cause. 

This  young  man’s  name  was  Alexander  Benois.  As  for  Bakst,  little 
did  he  imagine  that  he  had  arrived  that  afternoon  at  a  turning  point 
in  his  artistic  career. 


47 


THE  CLUB 


For  a  number  of  years  a  group  of  students  from  May  College  a 
private  institution,  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting  at  the  home  of  their 
comrade,  Alexander  Benois.  Among  them  was  Constantine  Somoff,  a 
son  of  the  venerable  director  of  the  Hermitage,  and  the  future  origin* 
ator  of  “Echoes  of  Days  Past”;  Philosophov  who  later,  when  he  was 
associated  with  Dimitri  Merejkovsky,  was  destined  to  become  one  of 
the  revivers  of  religious  sentiment  in  Russia;  and  others  besides  who 
afterward  constituted  the  nucleus  of  the  society  named  “The  Artistic 
World”  and  who  still  later  supplied  the  staff  of  the  Russian  Ballet. 
Unique,  indeed,  was  the  atmosphere  of  this  house. 

I  have  already  had  occasion  to  speak  of  the  Benois  family.  They 
were  the  descendants  of  one  of  those  numerous  immigrants  who  for 
more  than  a  century,  from  the  accession  of  Peter  the  Great  till  the 
Moscow  Fire,  were  called  upon  to  help  in  the  transformation  of  Russia. 
All  of  these  newcomers  went  through  a  similar  experience:  the  tremend* 
ous  opportunities  for  initiative,  the  vast  geographical  extent  and  the 
artistic  impulses  of  the  young  empire  called  forth  the  highest  develop* 
ment  of  their  abilities.  Many  a  mediocre  artist — or  at  least  one  assumed 
to  be  mediocre— who  had  become  half  suffocated  amid  the  rabble  of  the 
western  world,  became  transfigured  in  these  favorable  surroundings. 
The  originality  of  the  Russian  character,  the  breadth  of  view  of  the 
grands*seigneurs  of  Catherine  II’s  time,  the  primitive  simplicity  of 
the  life  of  the  people — all  this  stirred  their  imagination.  And  so  these 
men,  who  transplanted  into  Russia  the  artistic  methods  of  the  West, 
the  conceptions  of  style  and  the  traditions  of  art  that  had  matured  in 
Europe,  became  Russians  themselves  in  heart  and  spirit.  More  than 
that:  it  is  to  these  “Russianized”  fellow*countrymen  of  ours  that,  in  a 
large  measure,  we  owe  the  birth  of  a  modern  Russian  art. 

The  Benoises  were  related  to  the  Cavos  family,  a  veritable  progeny 
of  artists.  Alexander  s  maternal  grandfather  had  been  a  noted  composer 
of  music,  his  uncle  a  theatrical  architect  of  distinction.  The  Cavos 
family  were  of  Venetian  origin  and  never  lost  contact  with  their  former 


48 


A  STREET  IN  LA  VILETTE  (PARIS).  STAGE  DECORATION  FOR  “ALAIDIN" 


fatherland;  the  Benoises  had  French  blood  in  their  veins.  All  this  is  of 
importance  to  those  who  are  interested  in  looking  for  the  origin  of 
certain  aspirations,  of  certain  artistic  inclinations  and  habits  of  mind, 
in  atavism  or  in  the  call  of  blood.  All  of  which  did  not  prevent  the 
Benois  brothers,  two  of  whom  we  already  know  and  the  third  one  of 
whom  was  an  architect  and  later  was  made  rector  of  the  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts,  from  becoming  the  eminent  Russian  artists  that  in  fact  they  are. 

As  for  Alexander,  from  earliest  childhood  he  possessed  all  the  qua* 
lities  needed  for  becoming,  if  not  an  intellectual  leader,  at  least  an  in* 
tellectual  centre.  His  general  culture,  broad  indeed  and  so  varied  as  to 
have  become  eclectic;  a  certain  pedagogic  inclination,— a  tendency  to 
instruct,  to  educate,  to  make  ideas  spring  forth;  added  to  this,  a  live* 
liness  of  temperament,  an  acuteness  of  perception  which  made  him  a 


49 


malcontent,  a  wide-awake  dreamer— all  these  rare  qualities  determined 
his  life’s  work.  His  attempts  at  painting,  excepting  only  his  theatrical 
creations,  never  seemed  able  to  free  themselves  of  a  certain  amateurish- 
sess.  But  this  was  a  natural  complement  to  the  fact  that  he  was  primar¬ 
ily  a  theoretician  or  rather  a  man  of  artistic  tastes  who  re-enforces  his 
intuitions  and  his  sensibilities  with  an  exact  sense  of  logic  and  with  the 
true  talent  of  a  writer. 

For  many  years  Alexander  Benois  has  been  the  most  famous  critic 
of  Russia.  He  is  passionate  and  imaginative.  He  proceeds  either  by 
invective  or  by  panegyric.  He  is  a  thunderbolt.  He  gets  worked  up  over 
some  artist,  some  idea.  Offtimes  he  is  mistaken  and  his  candidate  for 
fame  fails.  That  is  due  do  the  fact  that  Benois,  who  had  really  construct¬ 
ed  his  hero  from  his  imagination,  endowed  him  with  his  own  ideas, 
and  magnified  his  own  conceptions  in  him,  would  suddenly,  some  nice 
day,  leave  the  poor  wretch  to  his  own  designs. 

When  Bakst  was  admitted  to  this  group,  or  club,  the  school  boys 
had  become  students  and  the  original  circle  had  widened.  Philosophov 
had  introduced  into  it  a  cousin  of  his,  just  in  from  the  provinces,— a  fat, 
chubby  lad,  exceedingly  free  in  his  manners,  dictatorial  and  quite  agres- 
sive,  inexhaustible  in  paradoxes  which  at  times  were  absurd,  but  which 
he  defended  to  the  limit  without  in  the  least  attempting  to  be  polite 
about  it.  Benois  was  the  soul  of  this  group;  the  newcomer  was  to  become 
its  will,  its  moving  power — he  was  to  lead  it  to  its  supremest  heights. 
The  name  of  this  fellow  from  the  provinces  was  Serge  Diaghileff. 

Now  what  was  it  that  transpired  during  these  interminable  confabs? 
The  club  had  set  itself  up  as  a  supreme  court  which  was  to  judge  the 
quick  and  the  dead.  Before  doing  anything  constructive— they  didn’t 
know  themselves  what— its  members  first  wanted  to  wipe  out  everything 
existing.  They  would  agree  upon  the  victime,  appoint  someone  as  pro¬ 
secutor,  and  then  conduct  a  trial.  The  defendant  might  be  a  Shishkin 
or  a  Verestchagin— in  any  case  he  was  one  of  those  celebrities  whose 
wrongly  acquired  reputation  was  debasing  the  real  character  of  Russian 
genius  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world!  But  this  whole  work  of  tearing 
down  could  not  satisfy  this  enthusiastic  group  of  young  people.  They  felt 
the  needof  givingthemselves  over  to  something,  of  consumingthemselves 


50 


STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  BALLET  “ORIENTALES”.  (GOUACHE) 


21VCE  DECOKV1IOM2  EOK  BVITEX  „OKIEMJLVrE2..'  (OOfWCHE) 


X 


ma  content,  a  widc*awa  ct  Jreamer  -a  these  rare  quails s  *.  » 

Mmar> 
ces  hi 

*  '  >  »et  fu  r  e  nt  .  with  the 

either  b\ 


■ 


■ 

-J  !i  e  o:  those  eelcbrit  ♦  wi*  c 


ll  V  iA<  . 


s  whole  work  of  te&i  r  $ 

■ 


fiWm 


KflR 

Ksi 

SI 

i 

*^slr  jSSivll 

ti^r.-' -Soffit  ‘ 

-  -t  y-  ,-vF  yv^Jj mt  ^ 

rafer| 

XII 

A  NEGRO'S  COSTUME  (SI IEHER AZADE; 


for  something.  At  first  their  idol  was  Tchaikovsky,  the  composer  of  the 
“Sleeping  Beauty”.  Tchaikovsky  had  already  become  famous;  there  was 
therefore  no  “Battle  of  Hernani”  to  fight.  It  was  merely  a  question  with 
them  of  which  work  of  this  master  should  be  given  preference.  They 
decided  upon  the  “Queen  of  Spades”  and  placed  it  upon  the  pinnacle. 
What  thrilled  our  friends  about  this  work  was  the  fact  that  it  conjured 
up  the  18th  century  in  Russia.  The  action  of  the  opera,  the  text  for  which 
was  taken  from  a  story  by  Pouchkine,  takes  place  amid  a  setting  that  is 
an  exact  reproduction  of  “Old  Petrograd”,— amidst  a  scenery  that  is 
familiar  and  famous.  The  promenade  in  the  summer  garden,  the  little 
bridge  over  the  winter  canal— this,  when  displayed  on  the  stage,  called  to 
mind  anew  the  beauty  of  the  venerable  capital— a  beauty  ever  present, 
but  unappreciated  and  neglected— and  rehabilitated  its  declining  fame. 

If  I  have  dwelt  rather  at  length  upon  the  feats  and  exploits  of  a  group 
of  unknown  youths,  it  is  due  to  the  fact  that  these  young  men,  who  after 
theater  would  walk  along  the  quais  during  the  “white  night”  singing  a 
duet  from  the  “Queen  of  Spades”,  or  would  lean  pensively  over  the  cold 
granite  parapet  to  listen  to  the  clock  of  the  Cathedral  of  Peter  and  Paul 
pealing  forth  its  crystal  melody  over  the  gloomy  walls  of  the  prison 
fortress,— it  is  due,  I  say,  to  the  fact  that  these  young  men  were  destined 
to  reshape  Russian  artistic  sense  from  top  to  bottom.  Later,  on  the  eve 
of  the  new  century,  the  “Mir  Iskousstva”  Society  was  founded;  with  the 
generous  aid  of  Princess  Tenicheff,  a  magazine  was  published;  artexposb 
tions  were  arranged.  A  new  epoch  wasbeginning.  Bakst  helped  to  shape  it 
— and  we  already  know  that  he  gavehimself  to  every  task  whole  heartedly. 

At  this  point  I  do  not  propose  to  narrate  the  story  of  “Mir  Iskousstva”. 
It  was  a  revolution  and  was  outrageously  attacked  as  such.  But  its  ex* 
ponents  held  that  it  saved  Russian  art.  Today  some  people  contend  that 
it  was  a  menace  to  art.  A  quarter  of  a  century  lies  between  these  two 
conflicting  opinions.  It  is  not  for  me  to  judge  which  is  right.  But 
Bakst’s  participation  in  the  work  of  this  society  forms  a  beautiful  page 
in  the  life  of  my  friend  and  therefore,  too,  of  this  story  of  mine.  And  my 
task  would  be  incomplete  were  I  to  omit  giving  a  brief  description  of 
this  great  movement  of  ideas  which  for  a  long  time  determined  the 
future  of  Russian  art. 


55 


STAGE  DECORATION  FOR  CHOPIN’S  “NOCTURNES” 


“MIR  I  S  K  O  U  S  S  T  V  A” 


The  small  vanguard  took  position  hastily;  impetuously  it  fell  upon 
the  enemy.  Diaghileff,  charging  at  the  head  of  this  handful  of  friends, 
sounded  the  rallying  cry.  He  was  successful.  Moscow,  too,  had  its  rais* 
ing  of  the  shield.  Serov  supported  the  movement.  Levitan,  the  land* 
scape  painter,  contributed  his  tremendous  popularity  to  the  young  cause. 
During  this  recruiting  fever  mistakes  were  not  wanting;  for  instance, 
Vasnetzoff,  the  insipidly  sweet  imitator  of  icons,  was  singled  out  for 
praise.  He  had  soon  to  be  dropped.  But  instead  Golovine,  Polienov 
and  others  joined  them  who  drew  upon  the  real  popular  sources.  It  is 


56 


further  true  that  they  almost  succeeded  in  “reforming”  Vroubel,  the 
great  romantic  decorator  who  was  haunted  by  the  Demon. 

Above  everything  this  group  was  looking  for  allies  from  abroad. 
These  were  to  be  found  at  the  very  gates  of  Petrograd.  A  “young  Fin* 
land”  was  rising  about  Edelfeldt  as  founder — the  Axel  Galiens,  the 
Jaernefeldts,  the  Enkels;  in  short,  all  those  who  were  destined  to 
endow  the  “country  of  a  thousand  lakes”  with  a  national  art.  The  Finns 
accordingly  took  part  in  the  first  exposition  in  which  “Mir  Iskousstva” 
faced  Russian  public  opinion.  At  the  second  there  appeared  French 
guests  who  after  three  generations  found  their  way  back  to  Russia. 

This  proved  a  decisive  feat.  An  end  was  thus  put  to  the  isolation 
in  which  a  waning  Russian  art  found  itself.  For,  at  that  time  the  whole 
European  artistic  movement  was  ignored  in  Russia.  The  prize  winners 
of  the  Academy  would  go  to  Rome  to  perfect  themselves  and  would 
there  copy  the  Stanze  of  Raphael,  or  else,  perhaps,  they  would  go  to 
study  historical  painting  under  Piloty,  the  De  la  Roche  of  Munich.  The 
moving  spirits  of  the  school— a  Kramskoi,  or  a  Repine— would  return 
from  their  western  travels  with  nothing  but  contempt  for  the  “futile” 
(as  they  called  them)  masterpieces  of  beautiful  painting  or  else  an  in? 
fatuation  for  the  virtuosity  of  the  brush  of  a  Fortuny  or  a  Meissonnier. 

Diaghileff  and  Benois  flung  the  doors  wide  open.  A  motley  crowd 
enters  pell-mell;  even  the  “decadents”  of  the  Viennese  Secession,  with 
Renoir  and  Carriere.  Mistakes  are  made;  there  is  as  yet  no  scale  of 
values;  the  obscure  Belgian,  Leon  Frederick,  is  put  upon  a  pedestal  while 
Cezanne  is  ignored  until  1904.  The  reason  for  this  is  the  fact  that  this 
group  at  first  has  no  positive  program.  But  its  negative  influence  is 
inestimable.  Repine,  one  of  the  most  powerful  exponents  of  this 
ideologic  naturalism  which  I  have  mentioned  in  passing,  launched 
a  counter-attack  in  the  name  of  the  survivers  of  traditional  academic 
style.  Diaghileff,  by  his  virulent  reply,  threw  the  champion  of  routine 
out  of  the  saddle.  It  is  a  great  period  of  ringing  battles,  of  hard  contests 
with  the  adversary  who  mangled  even  Ingres’  very  name.  These  strug¬ 
gles  were  the  more  heroic  since  the  public  remained  averse  to  them. 

The  editorial  offices  of  their  magazine  were  the  hot-house  in  which 
new  ideas  were  hatched  and  the  staff  headquarters  where  the  big 


57 


offensives  were  planned.  Now,  the  editorial  staff  itself  was  divided 
into  two  sections.  In  the  large  salon  we  find  Philosophov,  handsome 
and  slender  as  a  thoroughbred  courser,  who  meets  the  contributors  to 
the  literary  section.  There  is  Merejkovsky,  who  contributes  his  best 
works  to  the  review  and  who  introduces  us  to  the  art  and  the  doctrines 
of  Tolstoy  and  Dostoievsky;  Leon  Shestov,  the  apostle  of  “eradication” 
with  his  emaciated  face  of  a  Jewish  Socrates;  Rosanov  who  pried  into 
the  very  depths  of  the  sexual  problem,  a  towering  spirit  who  used  to 
bare  his  inmost  thoughts  with  candor.  Of  all  these  men,  who  were 
radiant  in  their  young  fame,  Rosanov  alone  did  not  profess  a  supreme 
philosophical  contempt  for  the  fine  arts.  The  painters,  accordingly, 
would  shrink  back  from  the  haughtiness  and  the  affected  attitude  of 
the  literary  folk  and  would  seek  refuge  in  the  office  of  the  secretary* 
general,  the  headquarters  of  the  artistic  section. 

There  they  would  find  Bakst,  who  was  collecting  the  material  that 
oftentimes  was  queer  enough,  and  who  in  fact  worked  out  the  whole 
review.  No  task  was  too  hard  for  him.  He  would  group  the  various 
component  parts  and  make  up  the  pages.  It  would  happen  that 
Diaghileff,  disconcerted  over  an  engraving  that  came  out  badly  and 
that  had  the  earmarks  of  a  confused  work,  would  come  to  Bakst  who 
would  take  up  the  work  on  the  plate  and  give  form  to  an  amorphous 
jumble  of  touches.  Another  one  of  his  steady  tasks  was  that  of  decorat* 
ing  the  book,  of  designing  the  cover,  of  drawing  the  ornamented 
letters,  of  supplying  the  tail*pieces.  In  this  connection  it  should  be 
recalled  that  the  art  of  book  decorating  was  revived  at  the  end  of  the 
last  century.  The  English,  with  Walter  Crane  at  the  head,  started  the 
procession.  It  was  an  Englishman,  furthermore,— Aubrey  Beardsley— 
who  designed  arabesques  of  extraordinary  sharpness  and  delicacy  upon 
the  geometrical  quadrangles  of  the  pages.  This  new  method  was  also 
being  experimented  upon  in  Petrograd.  A  number  of  artists  of  the 
second  generation  of  “Mir  Iskousstva”,such  as  Narbout  and  Mitrochin, 
are  exclusively  “vignettistes”.  As  for  this  first  group,  they  had  to  do 
everything  and  accordingly  they  did  everything.  Benois,  Somov,  that 
other  Russianized  Frenchman  Lanceray— all  were  experts  at  this  art. 
Bakst,  too,  went  through  it.  There  are  magazine  covers  of  his  extant 


58 


XIII 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  OSCAR  WILDE’S  “SALOMEA”.  (GOUACHE) 


offensives  were  planr  .1 

J  h  '  ophov,  hand 
rutf  the  contributor'  to 
v  v  »  i  tributes  his  b*  t 
i  t  jnd  the  doctrine'* 

'eradication” 
’  •  pried  into 
's  ov  e:  *d  w ho  used  to 

<  d  r.  Of  !l  t  esc  men.  who  were 
i  ov  ilon*  !■•.'  p  *  less  a  supreme 
e  fine  lartRjud  accordingly, 


tteted  attitude  of 
4k  of  rhe  secretary!* 


co»r  d  uup  'W.a  that 

-  ■  '  ’ ( ‘ •  M  «  •*  a*  i 

the  pjbte  -  •;'#!  5-  a  .  n  w 

Jl  '  ••  OlK  cn  '.-S  ;iv  apy  f*.  ..  .,*? 

tng  the  book,  i  .  u  the  .rt'.rocnted 

hr,,  a 

an,  furthermore.  isley — 

■  ^ordinary  sharp  iv  ao,!  .  .  y  upon 

:  ■>  •  V  ^  .  is  ,;h  o 

are  \  S \t  s  \  "\  »i  t  group,  they  had  to  do 

?  ere  experts  at  this  art. 


58 


UIX 

(3HOAUOO)  ."A3MOJA8"  83CIJIW  3A080  >103  8M0ITAM033a  30AT8 


V 


A  YOUNG  BEOTIAN.  (■•NARCISSUS”  BALLET  ).  WATER  COLOUR 


on  which  statuettes  in  Directoire  style  flank  a  medaillon,  or  on  which 
there  are  artistic  frames.  At  the  same  time  he  tried  his  hands  at  pure 
illustrating;  there  is,  for  instance,  a  water^color  of  his  which  illustrated 
“The  Nose”,  a  grotesque  story  by  Gogol.  Today  we  look  upon  these 
designs  as  the  first  attempts  at  the  masterful  costume^pages  of  later  days. 
“Bakst  has  hands  of  gold”,  wrote  Benois  in  his  history  of  Russian 
painting,  a  work  of  which  we  shall  speak  again  later.  He  admired  his 
manual  skill  and  the  elasticity  of  his  spirit  and  of  his  workmanship. 
But  he  was  unconscious  of  his  powerful  personality. 

Later  on,  dissatisfied  with  pen  sketching  that  was  then  reproduced 
by  the  mechanical  process  of  engraving,  the  group  tried  themselves  at 
original  lithography.  Here,  again,  Bakst  was  successful:  a  head  of 


Levitan  brings  out  in  sharp  juxtaposition  the  intense  black  and  white 
of  the  drawing. 

Thus,  then,  we  see  Bakst  working  away  at  his  table,  which  is  covered 
with  waste  paper,  with  photographs  and  proofs.  Around  him,  people 
talk  idly,  or  loll  about  the  couches,  or  draw  caricatures,  or  debate. 
Then,  through  a  cloud  of  smoke  produced  by  ten  cigarettes,  Diaghileff 
comes  rushing  in,  chasing  a  new  rainbow.  He  tells  of  his  latest  discovery, 
or  he  scoffs  at  some  idol  that  he  adored  the  day  before.  His  enthusiasm 
is  as  intermittent  as  it  is  uncompromising.  He  is  the  life  of  this  party 
of  outspoken,  unreserved  painters;  he  cares  little  for  men  of  letters. 
Alexander  Benois,  on  the  other  hand,  forms  the  connecting  link  between 
the  two  clans;  he  arranges  and  coordinates  everything  by  virtue  of  his 
broad  and  supple  understanding.  Soon  new  initiates  —  Grabar  and 
Jaremitch,  the  artist? writers,  and  Kouzmin,  the  poet?musician,  and 
others— join  in  the  work  of  strengthening  the  somewhat  difficult  union 
of  these  two  sections. 

Within  this  community  of  painters,  however,  there  was  little  agree? 
ment  as  to  the  road  that  should  be  followed.  They  agreed  in  their 
hatreds,  but  differed  as  to  aims.  Diaghileff,  always  hypersensitive  to 
the  sensations  of  the  day  and  ready  to  take  his  ideas  out  of  the  clear 
sky,  would  misjudge  the  value  of  ephemeral  tendencies  and  therefore 


CNOSSOS  HARBOUR  (CRETE).  SKETCH  FOR  ALBUM 


64 


STAGE  DECORATION  FOR  PROLOGUE  IN  ORIENTAL  STYLE 


at  times  get  himself  into  an  impasse.  Thus  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  away  into  enthusing  over  that  atrocious  “modern  style”,  the 
architectural  vestiges  of  which  today  disgrace  every  large  city  in  the 
world.  Bakst  together  with  his  older  friend  Serov  set  himself  against 
painting  in  the  style  of  Gustav  Klimt  and  against  architecture  a  la 
Olbrich  in  the  name  of  an  honest,  direct  and  robust  art. 

The  weak  spot  about  all  this  combativeness  and  intellectual  ardor, 
which  proved  fatal  and  unavoidable  amid  these  divergent  points  of 
view,  was  the  lack  of  creative  ability  on  the  part  of  the  group.  This 
group  had  deposed  and  duly  trampled  under  foot  the  art  of  the 
„wanderers”  with  its  social  tendencies  and  its  worship  of  the  moujik. 
It  had  done  this  to  the  greater  glory  of  an  art  that  is  unselfish  and 
creative.  But  almost  immediately  its  members  turned  toward  literature. 
Among  all  those  former  members  of  the  Club  (I  except  only  Serov  and 


65 


the  Moscovites),  there  was  not  a  single  painter  in  the  real  sense  of  the 
word.  Benois,  who  never  when  working  at  a  canvas  could  completely 
overcome  his  amateurish  clumsiness,  Lanceray,  later  Doboujinsky 
they  all  were  first  and  foremost  illustrators,  rather  than  painters,  who 
were  steeped  in  precious  recollections,  who  gleaned  from  every  style 
and  who  discovered  forgotten  beauties. 

With  this  select  group,  then,  the  motif  prevailed  more  and  more 
over  its  execution;  the  brush  became  a  means  of  interpreting  a 
history  perceived  with  a  sort  of  sentimental  homesickness  mixed  with 
irony.  Is  it  surprising,  then,  that  the  retrospective  attitude  got  the 
upper  hand  more  and  more,  and  that  the  offshoots  of  this  movement 
were  sacrificed  to  a  propaganda  for  the  past? 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  discovery  followed  upon  discovery.  Preceding 
generations,  going  into  Russian  extremes,  became  infatuated  with  the 
idea  of  progress.  Accordingly  they  either  ignored  or  misunderstood 
their  national  past.  Then,  under  Nicholas  I  the  czar^gendarme,  the  old 
architecture  was  disfigured  by  German  builders.  As  for  the  unique 
and  grandiose  beauty  of  the  structures  in  the  style  of  the  Empire  and 
of  Louis  XVI,  —  buildings  without  parallel  in  the  occidental  world  — 
these  were  confounded  by  the  public  with  that  implacable  hatred  that 
it  bore  toward  the  regime  that  had  erected  and  that  was  maintaining 
them.  An  educated  Russian  could  not  possibly  find  anything  beautiful 
about  the  Winter  Palace,  this  fine  masterpiece  of  Rastrelli;  he  would 
decline  to  admire  the  Admiralty  Building  because  the  defeat  of 
Tsushima  was  prepared  within  its  formidable  walls.  The  writer  of 
this  sketch  was  himself  brought  up  in  this  atmosphere  of  hateful 
contempt  for  the  ‘official  ugliness”  and  the  “style  of  the  barrack.” 

Benois  and  his  friends  discovered  this  slandered  beauty  and  became 
enamoured  of  it.  Later  on  we  shall  see  how  Bakst  discharged  his  debt 
of  gratitude  to  old  Petrograd,  this  wonderful  city  which  rose  miracuh 
ously  from  the  surface  of  the  waves. 

But  the  surprises  were  not  yet  over.  In  his  history  of  modern 
Russian  painting,  Benois  with  boldness  and  with  charming  eloquence 
recalled  the  founders  of  this  style  of  painting,  the  portraiTpainters  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  especially  Levitzky  and  Borovikovsky.  He  cast 


66 


XV 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  HINDU  BALLET  (GOUACHE) 


k  nfer  in  the  real  sense  (  fe< 
,  .  ...  ,■  »♦  i  canvas  could  com  r  eld  y 

cray,  later  Dobouii  >ky— 
:  ;at  ■  who 

wU-a  ry  style 

and  more 
preting  a 
mixed  with 
de  got  the 
i  movement 

Preceding 
;  with  the 
,\-4  nderstood 
c,  the  old 
he  unique 
ipire  and 
world  — 
"red  that 
retaining 
dutiful 
would 
defeat  of 
v.  riter  of 
dateful 

h  ugliness’  and  the  4 
discovered  this  slamu 


>  d  became 


s  shall  see  how  K,.  .ar,  <  ins  debt 

v  id,  this  wonderful  at  niracuk 

•  waves. 

■'  ntss  and  with  ci  •;  v  oquence 
?  ■  oi  painting,  the  p  i  V'nters  of 
tzkyar  He  cast 


vx 


(HHDA'JOO)  T3JJAH  JGKIH  *03  <2HOITA>IOD3<3  3; 


3DAT?. 


/v 


A. 


C 


/ 


3«kv  t 


\ 


'^;rT 


XVII 

1’HE  IMPERIAL  PALACE  (“THE  MARTYRDOM  OF  ST.  SEBASTIAN") 


STAGE  DECORATION  FOR  D'ANNUNZIO'S  TRAGEDY  "LA  PISANELLA" 


overboard  all  existing  estimates  and  showed  up  the  emptiness  of  the 
“wanderers”  school.  But  his  justified  and  impetuous  enthusiasm  prov- 
ed — or  nearly  so — the  undoing  of  “Mir  Iskousstva”. 

The  magazine  deteriorated  before  one’s  eyes.  Side  by  side  with 
it  Benois  brought  out  a  collection,  or  analytical  inventory,  called 
“The  Art  Treasures  of  Russia”.  The  creator  became  a  collector. 
Ceaselessly  he  and  his  friends  collected.  Bric-a-brac  occupied  a  promi¬ 
nent  place.  Icons  of  the  school  of  Novgorod  were  dug  up,  likewise 
family  portraits  done  by  serfs  in  the  old  households  of  the  nobility, 
mahogany  furniture  dating  back  to  the  Peace  of  Tilsit,  and  popular 
likenesses. 

For  a  time  Diaghileff  allowed  himself  to  drift.  As  usual  he  treated 
this  craze  for  the  past  on  a  grand  scale.  He  even  resumed  it  in  a  defi¬ 
nite  effort  of  which  I  shall  speak  later.  But  for  the  present  he  and  his 
friends  felt  themselves  reduced  to  the  role  of  custodians  of  a  museum 


75 


or  of  benevolent  guides,  a  thing  that  was  repugnant  to  his  ambition 
and  his  temperament.  He  looked  for  a  way  out.  The  stage  alone 
seemed  to  offer  it. 

Naturalism  had  just  won  its  greatest  triumphs,  thanks  to  the 
Moscow  Art  Theater.  But  if  comedy  was  taken  possession  of  by  the 
naturalists,  the  opera  and  the  ballet  could  react.  Already  Mamontov, 
the  famous  maecenas  who  discovered  Shaliapin,  had  ordered  stage 
decorations  from  the  Moscow  painters,  Vroubel  and  Golovin.  At 
Petrograd  everything  was  given  a  trial.  I  cannot,  without  exceeding  the 
limits  set  me,  speak  at  greater  length  of  what  became  of  this  movement; 
some  day,  perhaps,  I  shall  be  able  to  strike  its  balance.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  have  already  had  to  enlarge  considerably  upon  my  subject  in 
order  to  set  the  subject  of  my  sketch  down  in  his  proper  surroundings, 
in  that  unique  atmosphere,  created  by  historical  and  personal  contings 
encies,  which  is  ignored  for  the  most  part  by  the  Russian  people,  and 
which  entirely  escapes  the  attention  of  the  foreign  reader.  Besides,  this 
union  of  a  handful  of  men  who  were  determined  to  restore  the  artistic 
greatness  of  their  country  was  so  brotherly,  so  fraternal  that  it  would 
be  wrong  to  differentiate  between  their  respective  roles  and  artificially 
to  isolate  their  efforts. 


76 


AN  ALMfiE.  “SHEHERAZADE"  BALLET 


THE  THREE  KNOCKS 


Resolutely  DiaghilefF  turned  his  co-workers  towards  the  theater.  The 
time  was  propitious.  Vsevolojsky,  the  director  of  the  Imperial  theaters, 
had  just  resigned  his  position  which  he  had  filled  so  brilliantly.  Himself 
a  dilettante  nobleman  and  a  man  of  good  taste  he  had  personally 
designed  most  of  the  costumes  that,  under  his  direction,  were  built  for 
the  ballet  and  the  operas.  He  had  to  a  large  extent  reconstructed  the 
Russian  and  foreign  repertoire,  devoting  himself  to  Tchaikovsky  and 
making  a  place  for  Wagner.  A  galaxy  of  stars  surrounded  him.  Marius 
Petitpas,  the  greatest  living  choreographer,  exercised  his  successful 
dictatorship  over  the  ballet.  A  brilliant  young  woman,  just  out  of  school, 
was  about  to  eclipse  the  celebrated  Italian  virtuosos.  Highly  respected 


77 


painters— the  Shishkovs  and  the  Botcharovs— who  were  experts  at  the 
art  of  stage  decoration,  executed  the  ideas  of  their  director.  In  short, 
he  did  everything.  Was  it  his  fault  that  his  activity  fell  within  the 
worst  epoch  of  a  century  that  was  called  the  stupid  century?  Is  he  to 
be  blamed  that  the  sources  of  his  inspiration  and  the  quality  of  the 
documents  consulted  by  him  bore  the  marks  of  that  terrible  decadence 
of  the  artistic  instinct  of  which  the  year  1900  marks  the  climax  and 
presages  its  end?  However  that  may  be,  he  prepared  a  glorious  end 
for  an  obsolete  art.  The  old  opera  passed  away  in  beauty. 

Yet  with  all  the  extraordinary  perfection  of  execution,  a  certain 
uneasiness  was  germinating.  Vague  manifestations  of  independence 
were  threatening  the  rigorous  traditional  discipline.  In  the  midst  of  this 
crisis  the  helm  was  given  to  a  young  man.  Prince  Serge  Volkonsky, 
who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  Court  theater  by  his  splendid 
bearing  and  his  clever  acting,  belonged  to  one  of  the  noblest  Russian 
families.  His  grandfather  had  taken  part  in  the  famous  ” Decembrist 
insurrection"  of  1825 ;  his  grandmother  had  followed  her  husband  to  his 
Siberian  convict  prison  with  a  devotion  that  inspired  Nekrasov  to  write 
a  celebrated  poem.  Volkonsky  let  the  dead  bury  their  dead  and  from  the 
very  first  made  his  appeal  to  the  young  men  and  women— to  Diaghileff 
and  his  friends.  They  plunged  into  their  work:  a  revival  of  Delibes’ 
"Sylvia”  was  decided  upon. 

The  Mir  Iskousstva  painters  agreed  to  make  their  first  attack  upon 
the  stage  together.  Accordingly,  they  divided  up  the  work  by  acts, 
Alexander  Benois  leading — Benois  who  even  today,  after  his  success* 
ful  collaboration  with  Stravinsky,  retains  a  real  feeling  of  reverence 
for  Delibes  whom  he  places,  without  hesitation,  in  a  class  with 
Wagner.  Bakst  and  Serov  also  collaborated. 

But  the  opera  was  never  put  on.  There  is  a  veritable  hoode  about 
this  ’’Sylvia",  which  kept  haunting  the  Russian  artists  and  yet  was  never 
produced.  The  late  Andrianov,  an  exceedingly  good  dancer,  was  about 
to  show  an  abridgement  or  sketch  of  this  piece,  but  the  attempt  came 
to  naught;  Fokine  dreamed  about  it  vainly  for  many  years. 

As  to  this  first  attempt  at  cooperative  work,  it  failed  for  personal 
reasons.  From  the  beginning  Volkonsky  felt  his  prestige  as  manager 


78 


'■  v  experts  at  th 
;  director.  In  short 
it-’!  within  the 
'  :rv?  Is  he  to 
litv  of  the 
Jecadence 
i:max  and 
nous  end 

■V 

.-non,  a  certain 
^endence 
#  -  mid  t  of  this 
ge  Volkonsky, 
his  splendid 
oblest  Russian 
Decembrist 
nd  to  his 
o  write 
from  the 
'iaghileff 
..  :  1  Delibes’ 


\  upon 
b  r  acts, 
success* 
cvcrence 
a  cm  ss  with 

*>ode  about 
c  a  as  never 

er,  was  about 
c  >rrempt  came 

'  d  for  personal 
as  manager 

XIX 

l,3H.  )AUOO)  .OGJAVIIX  .T3JJA3  "3UOMJH  CTOOO  30  H3MOW"  3HT 


XX 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  “PILEDRA". 


(GOUACHE) 


A  COSTI  ME. 


XXI 

“NARCISSUS”  BALLET 


XXII 

THE  PILGRIM  ("BLUE  GOD”  BALLET).  (GOUACHE) 


DRAWING  OF  A  LIVING  MODEL  FOR  A  PICTURE 


threatened  by  the  consuming  energy  and  the  unscrupulous  ambition 
of  his  “employe”,  Diaghileff.  To  be  sure,  Diaghileff,  conscious  of  his 
actual  superiority,  carried  himself  as  though  he  were  the  boss.  Fearing 
he  would  be  supplanted  by  this  maire  du  palais,  the  director  re?' 
quested  Diaghileff  to  resign  voluntarily.  Diaghileff  would  do  nothing 
of  the  sort.  Exasperated,  Volkonsky  promptly  discharged  him,  by 
applying  the  famous  “paragraph  three”  of  the  rules  and  regulations  to 
his  case,  by  the  terms  of  which  the  “government  secretary  Diaghileff” 
was  forever  barred  from  all  public  appearance.  Who  knows  but  that 
to  this  act  of  administrative  jealousy  we  owe  the  grandiose  effort 


87 


of  the  “Russian  Season”?  Excluded  from  official  life,  Diaghileff,  the 
great  condottiere  of  art,  could  unfold  his  full  power! 

Diaghileff  left,  his  friends  followed,  a  great  gap  closed  in  about  the 
director,  and  several  months  later,  not  being  able  to  have  the  last  say 
in  a  quarrel  with  a  star  who  was  both  famous  and  powerful,  Volkonsky 
had  himself  to  resign  and  leave. 

Bakst,  however,  had  not  participated  in  this  boycott  of  the  prince; 
he  plunged  into  his  work  for  its  own  sake.  But  it  was  not  at  the  Marie 
Theater  that  he  made  his  real  debut.  Grand  *  Duke  Vladimir 
Alexandrovitch  had  brought  back  with  him  from  one  of  his  frequent 
trips  to  Paris  the  text  for  a  pantomime,  the  author  of  which  was 
Fevre,  the  comedian.  This  play,  “The  Heart  of  the  Marchioness”, 
found  favor  with  the  directors.  It  was  decided  to  play  it  at  the 
Hermitage  Theater,  an  auditorium  reserved  exclusively  for  the  Imperial 
family  and  the  members  of  the  Court.  It  was  connected  with  the 
Winter  Palace  by  a  passage.  The  French  actors  of  the  Michel  Theater, 
under  the  direction  of  the  maitre  de  ballet,  Enrico  Cecchetti, 
executed  the  pantomime  before  an  audience  of  grand  dukes  and 
chamberlains. 

Vladimir  entrusted  the  scenery  to  Bakst.  The  latter  conceived 
a  semicircular  pavilion  as  stage  setting.  For  costumes  he  went  straight 
to  authentic  sources  and  utilized  the  elements  for  devising  a  good 
ensemble.  He  brought  a  new  idea  to  the  theater:  that  of  style.  That 
is,  at  least,  what  eye-witnesses  claim;  nothing  has  been  preserved  of 
this  work  of  his. 

As  the  pantomime  was  tremendously  successful,  the  Emperor  had  this 
show  put  on  at  a  gala  benefit  performance  in  the  Marie  Theater — and  this 
is  how  Bakst  for  the  first  time  appeared  on  the  most  famous  of  all  Russian 
stages.  This  winter  of  1900,  then,  when  for  the  first  time  he  went  upon 
the  stage  that,  according  to  Goethe,  “means  the  universe”,  decided  his 
future.  Who  could  today  imagine  what  the  fate  of  modern  scenerie  would 
be  without  the  contribution  of  Bakst?  And  who  could  conceive  of  a  Bakst 
remaining  a  stranger  to  the  theater?  It  took  him  ten  years  to  find  his 
place.  The  three  knocks  struck  home.  For  the  first  time  the  curtain  rises 
over  a  work  of  Bakst.  Ten  years  later  Paris  will  crown  “Sheherazade”. 


88 


THE  THEBAN  GATE 


Meanwhile  Colonel  Teliakovsky  had  succeeded  Volkonsky.  He 
owed  his  appointment  as  director  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  in 
the  Horseguards  with  Baron  (later  Count)  Freedericksz,  minister 
of  the  Court.  A  ludicrous  figure  he  was— this  horseman  promoted 


A  ROAD  IN  THE  FIELDS  (SAVOY).  DRAWING 


to  be  stage  manager—,  without  either  ideas  or  prestige  and  con* 
sequently  unable  to  contribute  anything  of  value.  But  he  gave 
others  a  free  hand — and  that  is  a  great  deal  during  a  period  of 
fermentation  and  revival. 

Thus,  soon  after  his  appointment,  he  authorized  an  experiment  of 
far*reaching  importance.  Alexander  Theater  was  preparing  to  bring  out 
Euripides’  tragedy,  “Hippolytus,”  the  attempt  being  made  to  produce 
it  as  nearly  like  the  ancient  original  as  possible.  The  young  stage 


89 


director,  Osarovsky,  hoped  to  make  a  grand  coup.  The  play  was 
translated  by  Merejkovsky  in  exceedingly  beautiful  verse  and  with  an 
extremely  intense  modern  feeling.  Among  the  Russian  intellectuals  of 
that  time,  Nietzschean  ideas  were  held  in  great  fascination.  Now,  in  this 
early  masterpiece  the  philosopher  had  transfigured  the  whole  con* 
ception  of  the  spirit  of  the  ancients.  Under  the  marbledike  and  placid 
guise  of  the  Greece  of  Apollo’s  time  he  had  revealed  the  Dionysiac 
ecstacy,  the  pathetic  distress  and  the  mystic  impulse  of  the  masses.  What 
had  been  considered  as  the  key  to  their  souls,  viz.,  this  sovereign  and 
plastic  art,  was  but  a  sham  emancipation. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  government  had  tried  to  curb  turbu* 
lent  youth  by  means  of  the  classical  ferule.  Greek  was  loathed  as  much 
as  was  the  royal  blue  of  the  gendarme  uniform.  But  the  translation 
by  Merejkovsky  and  the  enthusiastic  eloquence  of  Professor  Zielinski, 
scholar  and  poet,  who  commented  upon  it  as  “the  birth  of  tragedy”, 
caused  great  surprise  and  soon  extreme  fondness  for  it.  It  was  necessary, 
however,  in  order  to  bring  about  this  rehabilitation  of  antiquity,  to  make 
use  of  the  best  possible  medium,  namely,  its  consecration  by  the  stage. 

The  scenery  and  costumes  for  „Hippolytus”  were  ordered  from 
Bakst.  After  an  interval  of  four  years  there  followed  “Oedipus  at 
Colonnae”  and  Sophocles’  “Antigone”. 

It  was  an  arduous  task  indeed,  for  the  problem  was  that  of  adapting 
the  essential  dualism  of  the  Greek  tragedy— its  lyric  choruses  and  its 
active  players,  its  dithyrambs  and  its  dialogue,  Dionysius  and  Apollo— 
to  the  arrangement  of  the  modern  theater,  with  its  odd^shaped  stage, 
like  a  box  opened  toward  the  side  of  the  spectators.  Bakst  made  the 
attempt.  Once  having  entered  upon  the  road  to  Thebes  he  solved 
the  enigma  of  the  Sphinx  without  stumbling  and  forced  open  the 
gate.  By  raising  the  background  of  the  stage  he  made  the  foreground 
available  for  the  proscenium,  with  the  altar  of  the  god  of  the 
tragedy  in  the  middle.  On  this  proscenium  the  choruses  executed 
evolutions,  the  choristers  chanted  the  strophes  and  antbstrophes 
rhythmically,  while  the  ensemble  of  supernumeraries  scanned  certain 
final  verses.  At  the  end  the  leader  of  the  chorus  would  ascend  the 
steps  which  connected  the  proscenium  with  the  platform  in  order 


90 


XXIII 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  ACT  4th  OF  D’ANNUNZIO’S  “ST.  SEBASTIAN”  (GOUACHE) 


1  ou  n  The  play  was 

‘  '  vi  i  t-i'ul  verse  and  with  an 
■  ;/  ri  Kussian  ntellectuals  of 


n  u  n.  Now,  in  this 

*  own 4 inured  the  whole  con* 


fim  lie  had  re  ealed  the  Dionysiac 


i\n.  choruses  and  its 
.!  k;  :,y,  i  >  and  Apollo — 

av  modern  shaped  stage, 

t!ie  side  of  :ht  ,  okst  made  the 

d  upoVi  the  road  es  he  solved 

without  stumbung  and  tweed  open  the 
o  of  the  stage  lie  nade  the  foreground 
,  with  the  altar  of  the  god  of  the 
h  roscenium  the  choruses  executed 
!  i  -he  strophes  and  anthstrophes 
■d  supernumeraries  scanned  certain 
r*  -  o  the  chorus  would  ascend  the 

o nium  with  the  platform  in  order 


90 


IIIXX 

(3  HO  A  JOO)  r4AIT8Aa32  .T8"  8'OIXVUJMKA'a  30  ritt*  TDA  X03  8HOITAXO03CI  30AT8 


w  ‘r  ■  i  1 

If,  1 

V  l;  Jprja 

l  -V?m 

|  ~r  '■> 

{il  gfn  ] 

[3  A* 

MKST 


PROJECT  OF  STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  “SLEEPING  BEAUTY" 


LKOIECX  OL  21VCE  DECOU' VUOA2  LOK  ..V>rEEbIHG  BEV/kLA.. 


■ar-aqrJtLWLW 


I 


XXVI 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  THE  VAULT  SCENE  (“ST.  SEBASTIAN") 


to  pronounce  Fate’s  supreme  sentence  upon  the  protagonist  who 
had  been  prostrated  by  the  gods. 

Thus,  for  the  first  time,  an  attempt  was  made  at  a  logical  dissociation 
of  the  rhythmic  and  dramatic  elements  of  the  ancient  theater.  Years  were 


A  BRANCH.  SKETCH 


to  elapse  before  the  German  Max  Reinhardt  invented  the  monumental 
staircase  and  the  proscenium  of  Lysistrata;  and  still  a  longer  period 
until  that  same  intrepid  pioneer  let  loose  upon  the  arena  of  a  circus  the 
hysterical  multitude  of  a  chorus  of  wild  persons.  Bakst  was  the  first, 
not  only  in  Russia,  but  in  the  world,  to  try  to  work  out  a  stage  and  a 


99 


conventional  plastic  language  that  was  in  accord  with  our  modern 
conception  of  ancient  art. 

The  Greeks  who  faced  each  other  in  the  tragic  dilemmas  of  “Hippoly- 
tus"  and  especially  of  “Oedipus’were  no  longer  those  classical  personages 


A  ROAD  IN  UPPER  SAVOY.  DRAWING 


with  rounded  gestures,  draped  in  white,  blue  or  red  tunics  that  looked 
like  a  schoolboy’s  drawing  after  a  plaster-cast  relief  of  Phideas.  They 
displayed  the  angular  shoulders  of  the  warriors  on  one  of  Aegina’s 
bas-reliefs;  the  conical  helmet  with  a  visor  protecting  the  brow  and  the 
nose,  as  well  as  the  metal  shin  protectors,  tended  to  simplify  the  lines 


100 


of  the  actor.  On  the  other  hand  the  garments  were  brightcolored;  the 
purple  robe  of  Creon  was  resplendent  with  its  ornamentation  copied 
from  Ionian  pottery.  The  sixth  century  dispossessed  the  fifth,  archaic 
art  crowded  out  the  classical  canons,  the  intense  colors  of  many  hues 


PROJECT  OF  LANDSCAPE  (UPPER  SAVOY).  DRAWING 


obtained  preference  over  the  marble  whiteness  of  the  statues.  People 
breathed  again;  they  felt  themselves  freed. 

The  great  age  of  Pericles,  which  for  three  centuries  had  been 
exploited  by  every  academy  of  Europe,  which  had  been  vulgarised, 
debased,  enervated  by  the  Alma-Tademas  and  the  Siemiradskis, 


101 


seemed  gloomy,  formal,  deathly  cold.  Besides,  an  art  that  is  perfect 
and  definite,  and  that  has  reached  its  zenith  affords  no  occasion  for 
further  research,  for  further  development.  It  condemns  its  followers 
either  to  imitating  it  or  else  to  diminishing  it.  Instinctively  Bakst 
took  issue  with  the  academic  rules.  The  fact  that  he  possessed  this 
divination  of  the  right  road  to  take  is  what  placed  him  several  years 
ahead  of  his  contemporaries. 

For  he  was  quite  alone  in  his  passion  for  this  Greek  antiquity 
which  at  every  new  turn  seemed  different  from  every  preconceived 
notion.  His  friends  of  the  “Mir  Iskousstva”  were  entirely  taken 
up  by  their  craze  for  rococo  curios  or  for  the  majesty  of  imperial 
architecture;  Diaghileff  was  looking  for  Russian  portraits  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  was  preparing  the  famous  exposition  of  the 
Tauride  Palace ;  Alexander  Benois  was  living  at  Versailles,  fascinated 
by  the  sight  of  regal  splendor.  The  only  one  who  followed  his  efforts 
with  solicitude  was  Serov.  So  that,  when  Bakst  felt  the  urgent 
need  of  testing  his  intuitions  by  direct  observations,  of  knowing 
positively  what  he  had  merely  guessed  at,  he  succeeded  in  persuade 
ing  the  great  portraitist  to  join  him  on  his  voyage  of  exploration 
into  archaic  Greece — a  journey  that  was  one  of  the  outstanding  events 
of  his  intellectual  life. 

Our  great  master  has  reserved  to  himself  the  task  of  some  da\  tell? 
ing  in  detail  the  thrilling  events  of  this  journey.  With  that  devotion 
to  friendship  that  is  characteristic  of  him  he  has  kept  a  minute  account 
of  the  utterances  and  impressions  of  Serov’s  manly  and  delicate  mind. 
It  will  make  a  splendid  volume  some  day. 

Serov  had  guided  Bakst’s  first  steps.  This  Greek  expedition  was 
Bakst’s  return  gift.  With  the  help  of  these  antique  realities,  which  served 
him  as  striking  arguments,  he  turned  the  tormented  realist,  the  sensitive 
psychologist  that  Serov  was,  to  a  study  of  syntheticized  painting  ex* 
pressing  itself  in  broad  and  severe  forms.  And  so  Serov,  pupil  of  Repine 
the  “wanderer”,  portraitist  of  important  Moscow  merchants  and  of  great 
Russian  intellectuals,  brought  back  from  this  voyage  a  memorable 
“Abduction  of  Europa”.  His  days,  however,  were  counted.  And  once 
again  Bakst  had  to  continue  his  solitary  way  unaided. 


102 


XXVII 

“TERROR  ANTIQUUS”. 

FIRST  GOLDEN  MEDAL.  1911  UNIVERSAL  EXHIBITION  (BRUSSELS) 


that  is  perfect 
;  ,  no  occasion  for 
ns  its  followers 
nstinctively  Bakst 
he  possessed  this 
d  him  rveral  years 


antiquity 
conceived 
!v  taken 
\  imperial 

t  of  the 
•  cinated 
vis  efforts 
r  v  irgent 
is  f  knowing 
persuad* 
exploration 
U  events 


a;  s  some  day  tells 
uvotion 
i  minute  a  mount 
■>  naniy  and  uds  ate  mind. 


his  Greek  e\pt  dition  was 
nque  realities,  which  served 
tormented  realist  the  sensitive 
vntheticized  painting  ex* 
vo  Serov,  pupil  of  Repine 
v  mercha i  t  a  nd  of  great 
do  voyage  memorable 
etc  counted  And  once 
,  i  naided. 


IIVXX 

."2UUQIT!4A  XOXXaT" 

(8332211X3)  WOITiaiHXa  JA2X3VIHU  I  IQ f  JACI3M  M3CIJOO  T2MI-I 


XXVIII 

TERROR  ANTIQUUS”  (DETAILED) 


A  ROAD  IN  THE  FIELDS.  DRAWING 


TERROR  ANTIQUUS 


Bakst  did  not  go  to  Greece  in  order  to  say  his  “prayer  upon  the 
Acropolis”,  to  venerate  the  Attic  serenity,  “the  sublime  grace  and  the 
sweet  grandeur”  discovered  by  Winkelmann  and  Goethe.  He  visited 
hot  Argos,  and  Mycenae  with  its  tomb  of  the  Atrides  which  several 
years  before  had  inspired  the  poet  d’ Annunzio  with  the  panting  dialogue 
of  his  “Dead  City ”;  Mycenae  whose  gates  called  forth  in  him  something 
like  a  homesickness  for  Egypt.  He  strolled  about  Crete,  among  the 
remnants  of  the  palace  of  Minos,  dreaming  about  Medea  the  Sorceress, 
about  the  Minotaur  conquered  by  Theseus,  about  the  monsters,  the 
Titans,  all  those  brutal  or  mystic  figures — the  Gorgons,  the  Eurynies — 
who  by  their  incessant  assaults  shook  the  pedestal  where  the  Divine 
Archer  defied  them.  The  fantastic  and  passionate  conception  of  the 
stage  decorations  for  the  Greek  tragedies  and  ballets  which  were  to  earn 
such  applause  in  Paris  had  its  origin  in  these  meditations  of  his  in  the 
occult  presence  of  Hellas’  clear  sky. 


107 


But  there  was  something  else  that  made  his  heartbeat  fast  as  he  stroll? 
ed  among  the  cliffs  of  Crete.  That  was  the  wind  which  blew  up  from 
the  shore— a  wind  that  was  perfumed  and  that  seemed  to  come  from 
the  vast  Orient  hidden  in  the  fog.  Who  knows  but  that  in  such  mo? 
ments  the  call  of  the  ancient  Asiatic  was  indistinctly  awakened  in  this 
Occidental  Jew?  Certain  it  is  that  underneath  the  chisel  and  the  polish? 
ing  tool  of  Greek  culture  he  discovered  the  lavish,  ardent  and  sensual 
oriental  raw  material.  And  the  archaic  sculptures,  massive,  with  rigid 
frontlets,  straightway  transported  him  to  Egypt.  Then,  too,  his  read? 
ings — Maspero  and  the  book  by  Fustel  de  Coulanges  about  the  “An? 
tique  City”  which  had  captivated  him  —  confirmed  his  theories.  He 
therefore  did  not  hesitate  to  take  from  the  Egyptians  the  ornaments  in 
live  colors  with  which  he  embellished  the  costumes  for  his  “Oedipus”. 

One  cannot  help  but  wonder,  when  one  lets  “Cleopatra”,  “Helen 
of  Sparta”  and  “St. Sebastian”  pass  in  review,  what  would  have  happen? 
ed  if  this  extraordinary  man  had  not  been  born  on  the  banks  of  the 
Neva  and  in  the  fullness  of  the  nineteenth  century!  Would  he,  under 
the  pharaohs,  have  added  new  figures  to  the  dancers  on  the  tombs  of 
Sakkarah?  Or  earlier  still,  would  he,  as  a  Phoenician  sailor,  in  his 
leisure  moments  have  designed  the  figures  on  the  prows  of  the  triremes 
of  Hamilcar?  He  would  well  have  fitted  into  the  brilliant,  arid,  impla? 
cable  atmosphere  which  forms  the  setting  for  Flaubert’s  “Salambo”. 
But  enough  of  these  digressions. 

What  he  had  observed  and  meditated  upon  during  these  feverish 
weeks  he  intended  to  mass  together  in  one  single  work,  a  decorative 
synthesis  and  at  the  same  time  a  philosophical  symbol:  Terror  anti? 
quus,  ancient  terror! 

In  the  foreground  of  the  picture,  cut  off  by  the  frame  at  knee? 
length,  a  colossal  archaic  Cypris  rises.  The  hair  of  the  idol  is  draped 
about  its  head  in  fluted  curls;  the  large  eyes  with  their  distended  pupils 
have  a  magic  fixedness;  a  ferocious  grin  plays  about  the  corners  of  the 
lips.  The  goddess  carries  a  blue  dove  in  the  palm  of  her  hand.  Power? 
fully  modeled,  she  turns  her  back  to  the  picture,  to  the  fury  of  the 
elements,  to  the  panic  distress  of  men.  Impassive,  implacable  she  turns 
away  from  this  world  which  is  tumbling.  Behind  the  statue  the  eye 


108 


1 


A  BLIND  ALLEY  IN  FIESOLE.  DRAWING 


beholds  a  landscape,  an  archipelago  seen  from  a  high  elevation,  and 
displayed  like  a  map  in  relief;  cliffs  submerged  by  the  rising  waves; 
diminutive  humanity  seeking  refuge  under  the  porticos  of  the  temples 
and  attempting  to  escape  the  inevitable;  an  enormous  stroke  of  lighting 
rending  the  air.  It  is  the  twilight  of  the  gods,  the  last  judgment  of 
the  Greek  world,  the  end  of  Atlantis. 

With  its  mysterious  mixture  of  congealed  grandeur  and  mad  anguish 
the  panel,  when  its  was  exhibited  (if  I  am  not  mistaken)  with  the 
Association  of  Russian  Artists,  created  something  of  a  sensation.  People 
flocked  to  the  lectures  of  Viatcheslav  Ivanov,  the  poet?philosopher  and 
author  of  a  treaty  on  Dionysios  and  the  religion  of  the  gods,  who 
explained  this  Greek  Apocalypse. 

As  for  Bakst,  this  work  of  his  constituted  a  striking  but  isolated 
episode  in  his  life  as  an  artist.  Man  of  the  theater  that  he  was,  his  aim 
was  that  of  utilizing  and  transforming  space  in  accordance  with  his 
vision;  here  he  transformed  a  surface,  in  the  sense  of  material  and 
philosophic  depth. 


109 


\ 


\ 


THE  SPIRAL  ROAD 


Into  this  period  of  researches  and  visions  in  Greece  falls  many  an 
episode  that  is  entirely  different  but  no  less  significant.  Since  1903 
Bakst  had  been  using  the  ballet  of  the  “Dolls’  Fairy”  on  the  imperial 
stage.  It  furnished  the  prototype  of  those  romantic  productions,  of 
those  entertainments  for  children  which  are  colorless  reflections  of 
Hoffmann’s  Coppelius  or  of  Andersen’s  tales  and  in  which  one  sees 
toys  awakened  to  an  artificial  and  mechanical  life  by  a  magic  wand — 
entertainments,  furthermore,  which  have  become  vapid  by  their  being 
produced  on  innumerable  German  stages.  Also,  he  rendered  homage 
thereby  to  that  “old  Petrograd”  that  was  dear  to  the  members  of  “Mir 
Iskousstva”. 

The  prologue,  which  represents  the  busy  coming  and  going  in  a 
doll  shop  in  the  capital  city  of  1830,  is  acted  by  a  big  crowd  of  people — 
shop*attendants,  customers  of  every  sort,  small  merchants  and  grand 
ladies,  lackeys  and  grenadiers,  mailmen  and  policemen  produced 
on  the  stage  as  the  naive  action  unfolds.  All  these  masques  and 
costumes  are  absolutely  authentic,  but  they  seem  fragile  and  delicate 
like  a  dream.  The  fact  is  that  the  documents  from  which  the 
dossier  of  the  decorator  was  constructed  were  anything  but  common* 
place.  Bakst  did  not  seek  his  information  from  the  more  direct  sources 
supplied  by  the  engravings  of  that  time:  he  went  to  the  show  cases  of 
porcelain  ware. 

Too  little  are  the  charming  products  of  Russian  porcelain  makers — 
the  Gardners  and  the  Popovs— known.  To  be  sure,  they  often  merely 
misrepresent,  in  their  style,  the  models  from  Saxony  or  Sevres,  but  they 
do  it  with  a  naive  flash  of  pure  color  that  appeals  to  rustic  artisans. 
But  side  by  side  with  such  imitations  these  obscure  Russian  artists 
modeled  an  entire  little  world  of  their  own  in  tender  clay— cossacks  in 
uniform,  drunken  serfs,  nude  women,  coiffed“en  cabriolet”  and  burying 
their  chilly  hands  in  fur  muffs.  Whatever  tastefully  conventional  there 
was  in  these  figures,  Bakst  transposed  into  the  language  of  the  theater. 
Ever  since  that  time  this  form  of  ballad  (or  “boutade”,  as  it  was  called 


110 


XXIX 

SUBMARINE  MONSTERS  (“SADKO”  OPERA)  (GOUACHE) 


R  A  L  ROAD 


c  falls  many  an 
ant.  Since  1903 
on  the  imperial 
productions,  of 
ss  reflections  of 
which  one  sees 
a  magic  wand — 
i  by  their  being 
odered  homage 
-  hers  of  “Mir 


and  going  in  a 
wd  of  people— 
nts  and  grand 
produced 
ues  and 
icate 
c  the 
ion? 
•urces 
)■  /.  cases  of 


<  ain  makers — 
often  merely 
.  Sa.\  e  vres,  but  they 

appe  rustic  artisans, 

c  ob  Russian  artists 


:<v  rendt  —cossacks  in 

cabi  and  burying 

folly  C'  -tional  there 

'•■guagc  i  ’he  theater 

. 

'  de”,  as  it  was  called 

XIXX 

(3HOAUOO)  .(AM 330  "OXCIA8“)  8M3T8KOM  3WIMAMHU8 


XXX 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  THE  BALLET  “WOMEN  OF  GOOD  HUMOUR 

(SECOND  VERSION).  GOUACHE 


V 


♦ 


XXXI 

A  BACCHANALIAN  DANCE  (JOSEPH)  BY  R.  STRAUSS 


XXXII 

Mr.  NIJINSKY  AS  “BLUE  GOD”.  (GOUACHE) 


IN  UPPER  SAVOY.  DRAWING 


in  the  time  of  Cardinal  Mazarin),  the  dancing  for  which  had  been 
designed  by  Serge  Legat,  a  splendidly  endowed  young  man  who 
committed  suicide  in  a  fit  of  passion  and  despair  over  a  love  affair, 
has  maintained  its  place  on  the  program.  Examples  of  it  are  the 
“Carnival”,  “Phantom  of  the  Rose”  and  “Secret  of  Suzanne”,  that 
delightful  little ^work  in  which  one  already  sees  Napoleon  evolving 
from  Bonaparte. 

But  Bakst  had  by  no  means  given  up  his  painter’s  easel  for  his 
theatrical  sketches.  Numerous  portraits  of  his  bear  out  this  fact,  such 
as  that  of  the  philosopher  and  lay  theologian  Vassili  Rosanov,  of  his 
friend  Benois,  of  Levitan  the  remote  emulator  of  Corot  who  discovered 
the  intimate  and  poignant  beauty  of  the  humble  Russian  landscape,  of 
Diaghileff  and  his  old  nurse.  Painted  with  keen  observation,  with 
facility  of  touch  and  in  vivid  colors  that  spread  over  broad  surfaces, 
these  portraits  coming  from  the  school  of  Serov  showed  nothing  of 


that  painful  affectation,  of  thatanguish  of  definitive,  absolute  expression 
with  which  the  Moscow  master  often  endowed  his  canvases  to  the 
point  of  tiresomeness.  In  the  case  of  Bakst  there  is  nothing  of  the  exact 
analyst  who  dissects  and  torments  the  soul  of  his  model.  With  our 
artist  everything  seems  to  be  improvisation,  happy  inspiration;  it  is  a 
style  for  which  the  fine  term  “prime^sautier”  (ready^wit),  once  coined  by 
Montaigne,  is  exactly  appropriate. 

His  growing  familiarity,  however,  with  Greek  art,  which  is  in  a  high 
degree  plastic  and  linear,  turned  him  in  the  direction  of  more  concern 
trated  and  more  simplified  processes.  The  painting  of  vases  in  the 
merest  outlines  and  on  flat  surfaces  neatly  silhouetted,  imperceptibly 
drew  him  into  the  path  followed  by  Ingres.  He  therefore  gave  up  his 
paint  brushes  in  favor  of  the  lead  pencil  and  the  colored  crayon.  In  his 
portraits  thus  designed  it  is  the  line  which  circumscribes  the  person, 
which  sets  it  out  in  space,  which  expresses  its  character  and  suggests  its 
size.  Thus  the  Russian  painter  is  already  en  route  towards  that  strictly 
linear  transposition  of  a  body  of  three  dimensions  without  the  aid  of  the 
model,  or  of  any  standard  of  values,  or  of  any  material  record ;  a  style 
which  some  day  Pablo  Picasso  employed  as  master  and  Modigliani  as 
spiritual  dreamer. 

But  even  all  this  could  not  satisfy  that  fever  for  activity,  that  fecund 
restlessness  which  at  all  times  determined  the  tremendous  productivity 
of  Bakst.  It  was  necessary,  people  were  agreed,  to  offer,  in  opposition 
to  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  managed  by  pedantic  dilettants  who  were 
embittered  by  the  triumph  of  the  new  art,  a  form  of  instruction  at  once 
free  and  sane.  The  haughty  air  of  the  Academy’s  official  staff  was  not 
justified  either  because  of  any  venerable  tradition  nor  because  of  the 
most  elementary  savoir  fa  ire.  The  “wanderers”,  having  dislodged 
from  the  Academy  the  pedants  whom  Bakst  knew,  placed  themselves 
in  their  seats.  Their  aesthetic  carelessness  was  complete,  their  ignorance 
of  Western  art  absolute  and  provoking.  At  the  same  time  young 
artists  who  rebelled  at  this  teaching  were  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  acquiring  the  rudiments  of  painting  by  themselves. 

Affairs  were  in  such  a  condition  that  they  absolutely  needed  to  be 
remedied.  Bakst  therefore  associated  himself  with  Mstislas  Doboujinsky, 


120 


■  i'c  Aiiv 


A  HUNTRESS  IN  1930 


a  remarkable  offspring  of“Mir  Iskousstva”,  who  excelled  in  the  designing 
of  the  ornament  and  of  the  vignette,  and  who  later  worked  with  cons 
siderable  success  in  the  theater,  in  order  to  start  a  free  school.  I  recall 
having  been  able,  in  connection  with  an  exposition  organized  by  the 
review  “Apollo”,  to  estimate  the  results  achieved  during  the  first  year  of 
the  school’s  work.  One  series  of  studies  symbolized  a  nude  man  on  a 


121 


background  of  red  material.  There  was  none  of  that  “academic”  way 
of  placing  things  in  a  vacuum  or  in  a  neutral  atmosphere,  nor  of 
sketches  colored  amid  gray  shadows.  The  bright  red  of  the  background 
played  upon  the  subject  in  green  lights;  the  rhythm  of  the  colored  sur? 
faces  superimposed  itself  upon  the  anatomic  harmony  of  the  body.  All 
these  attempts  were  strictly  anonymous  as  far  as  the  public  was  con? 
cerned;  it  was  not  the  personal  pride  of  the  students  that  was  to  be 
flattered;  it  was  merely  a  question  of  establishing  the  validity  of  the 
method.  That  did  not  hinder  the  fact,  however,  that  some  of  those 
young  unknown  painters  today  enjoy  a  reputation  that  borders  upon 
renown. 

We  have  now  reached  the  year  1908.  Bakst  seems  to  have 
condensed  his  effort.  He  has  summoned  back  the  ancient  legendary 
tale  and  has  restored  it  to  the  theater.  This  myth  he  has  also  pro? 
jected  upon  a  famous  canvas.  In  his  portraits  his  incisive  line  closely 
encompasses  material  and  internal  realities.  In  his  romantic  dreams 
he  has  been  able  to  live  again  through  what  Stephane  Mallarme 
has  called  «la  grace  des  choses  fanees».  Later  he  makes  a  division 
of  his  artistic  property  among  his  enthusiastic  students.  How  much 
there  is  in  this  to  fill  a  beautiful  life!  One  might  think  that  the  circle 
of  such  men  as  Bakst  is  completed  in  one  harmonious  curve.  But 
it  is  nothing  of  the  sort. 

Bakst  is  one  of  those  men  whose  road  is  laid  out  in  spiral  form. 
What  seems  like  a  stop,  is  in  fact  nothing  but  a  turn  of  the  road.  And 
at  each  turn  the  circle  widens.  At  Petrograd  his  task  is  completed.  There 
is  nothing  left  there  except  to  follow.  But  there  remains  Paris  and  the 
universe. 

In  reality,  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  task,  which  is  that  of  acquainting 
the  reader  with  a  Bakst  who  has  not  yet  been  written  up,  of  speaking 
of  his  formative  period  and  of  the  intimate  and  hidden  sources  of  his 
inspiration.  Once  my  hero  had  entered  upon  public  life,  I  ought  already 
to  have  left  the  domain  of  his  private  existence.  It  is  with  regret  that  I 
take  leave  of  the  good  little  fellow  who  goes  into  ecstasy  over  his  grand? 
father’s  canary  birds;  of  the  uncompromising  youth  wo  defies  his  igno? 
rant  masters;  of  the  young  man  who  risks  his  future— and  what  a 


122 


THE  RED  SULTANA 


;  :  %d  or  ;  ?  jn.iii'n/!!  :  e  of  that  “academic”  way 

atmosphere,  nor  of 
t  red  of  the  background 

Uvrr  ;  +ne  colored  sur? 

!  rhe  body.  All 
■  he  was  con? 
'-it  was  to  be 
iidity  of  the 
Tie  of  those 


borders  upon 

-tfCKT T&i 

It-  0*  ems  to  have 

^  Y’j#  •> 

ent  legendary 
has  also  pro* 
Jft  line  closely 

v\  i  ^  ox  dreams 

Mallarme 
i  division 
i  v  much 
..  .  ireie 
v  But 

iorm. 

d.  And 

red.  There 
.  r  s  and  the 


v*uainting 
it  speaking 
mrces  of  his 
oght  already 
h  egret  that  I 

i  r  his  grand? 
t  -s  his  igno? 
-and  what  a 


ILIXXX 

AHATJUg  Q3>1  HHT 


XXXIV 

THE  PINK  SULTANA.  (GOUACHE) 


► 


XXXV 

THE  YELLOW  SULTANA.  (GOUACHE) 


XXXVI 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  THE  “BLUE  GOD” 


1VXXX 

"HOD  3038"  3HT  303  2HOITA3O03CI  3DAT8 


future!— for  the  sake  of  the  exquisite  form  of  a  smile  and  the  profile  of 
a  tapering  hand;  and  finally  of  the  artist  whom  I  see  in  my  country 
becoming  identified  with  all  big  projects,  either  undertaking  them  or 
excelling  in  them. 

But  this  study  would  perforce  be  incomplete  if  I  did  not  decide  to 
accompany  our  friend  on  his  exodus  toward  the  West  and  to  put  to* 
gether  the  main  facts  of  his  recent  activity  which  sends  its  rays  over 
the  entire  world— an  activity  of  which,  for  the  most  part,  I  am  a  witness. 

Therefore,  en  route  to  Paris! 


131 


A  SHOW  IN  AN  ARMCHAIR 


In  1906  or  thereabouts,  following  immediately  upon  the  first  Russian 
revolution  that  failed  so  grievously,  the  group  of  young  artists  and 
poets  marched  side  by  side  through  the  breach  that  had  been  opened 
in  the  citadel  of  public  opinion.  The  “modernists”  of  “Mir  Iskousstva”, 
who  had  been  jeered  by  the  common  herd,  came  into  their  own.  But 
a  certain  uneasiness  troubles  this  rising  power;  it  feels  itself  incomplete, 
limited  in  a  fatal  manner.  It  is  not  equipped  to  reestablish  great  paint* 
ing;  it  can  only  count  upon  illustrators,  decorators,  and  poets  of  the 


(X  TF  ®  A  A  0  W 


DRAWING  OF  COLOUR  FOR  THE  REVIEW  •'APOLLO" 


past.  And,  as  is  the  case  with  authority  everywhere  when  it  feels  itself 
threatened,  so  too  this  group,  not  being  able  to  assert  itself,  was  anxious 
to  spread  out. 


133 


Accordingly,  they  looked  for  new  fields  to  conquer.  Once  again 
we  see  Diaghileff  leading  the  attack.  He  releases  that  great  exodus 
of  Russians  to  the  West— the  brilliant  and  victorious  march  on 
Paris.  The  offensive  starts  with  a  Russian  exhibition  at  the  “Salon 
d’Automne”,  an  exhibition  which  under  the  guise  of  being  retro? 
spective  is  in  reality  a  fighting  manoeuvre.  A  collection  of  icons,  of 
numerous  portraits  of  the  eighteenth  century  symbolizes  the  return  to 
a  tradition  which  the  young  men  of  the  “Monde  Artiste”  proclaim  to 
be  their  own.  Similarly  the  arbitrary  gaps  indicate  their  complete 
break  with  the  unnatural  art  of  the  “wanderers”,  the  latter  having  been 
nearly  entirely  eliminated. 

Bakst  took  part  in  this  enterprise  not  alone  as  a  painter.  He  de? 
corated  the  hall  of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  had  been  transformed 
into  a  grove,  with  a  trellis  surmounted  by  vases.  This  conception  of 
an  exposition  hall  forming  an  organic  whole,  making  a  coherent 
ensemble,  and  therefore  having  a  distinctive  atmosphere  — is  not 
this,  again,  a  gift  belonging  to  the  Russians? 

This  first  attack  could  do  no  more  than  break  through  the  first  lines 
of  the  enemy.  Painting,  it  was  evident,  was  not  sufficient  as  an  object 
for  combat.  So  Diaghileff  thought  of  music.  His  historical  concerts  of 
Russian  music  caused  the  greatest  excitement;  Parisian  opinion  was 
deeply  stirred.  Bakst’s  role  in  this  first  and  formidable  success  was  quite 
accidental.  He  drew  some  portraits  for  the  program,  notably  that  of 
Balakirev,  the  composer  of  “Thamar”:  bold  lines  and  a  synthetic 
contour  set  out  the  head  of  the  aged  oriental  sorcerer  as  though  it 
were  sculptured. 

It  now  became  a  question  of  following  up  this  first  victory.  Diaghileff 
turns  once  again  to  the  theater,  counting  for  his  success  upon  its  numbers 
and  upon  the  wide  range  that  it  afforded.  All  circumstances  are  favorable 
for  his  project.  His  old  group  of  co?workers  surrounds  him,  abler 
through  strife  and  experience.  A  galaxy  of  stars  of  the  dance— Pavlova, 
Karsavina  — await  but  the  signal  to  make  them  gleam  forth  on  the 
western  sky.  At  the  same  time  a  marvellous  dancer  is  discovered— 
Nijinsky.  And,  as  a  will  is  needed  to  give  life  to  all  these  latent  forces, 
behold,  Michael  Fokine  presents  himself,  — Fokine,  a  young  master  of 


134 


XXXVII 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  ACT  3rd  OF  VERH^EREN’S  “HELEN  OF  SPARTA”.  (GOUACHE) 


they  looked  for  new  fields  to  conquer.  Once  again 
the  k.  He  releases  that  great  exodus 
the  brilliant  and  victorious  march  on 
.  n  exhibition  at  the  “Salon 
•  •  n  a  if'.e  gUi  :  being  retro 
i  vre.  A  collection  of  icons,  of 
rurv  symbol1  es  the  return  to 
Monde  Artiste”  proclaim  to 
-  aps  indicate  their  complete 
derers”,  the  latter  having  been 


liter.  He  de* 
n  transformed 
Yhi  conception  of 
^king  a  coherent 
osphere  —  is  not 


ugh  the  first  lines 
icient  as  an  object 
wvHKerrsof 
.t  n  opinion  was 
*.  s  was  quite 
•  oLnam,  notably  that  of 
and  a  synthetic 
i  oriental  sorcerer  as  though  it 


« a  fig  up  this  first  victory.  Diaghileff 
*  n n g  for  his  su  c  cess  up<  ;  ts  numbers 
1  *  i  J  A 1 !  circumstance s  re  favorable 
>  workers  surrounds  him,  abler 
.  •  ’ '  >  v  of  stars  of  the  dance  — Pavlova, 
hem  gleam  forth  on  the 
;  dancer  is  discovered — 

.  ro  all  th  latent  forces, 
5  .kmt  a  \  ng  master  of 


(3H0A  JOD) 


nvxxx 

A  rXA'ia  *IQ  HHJ3H”  8’MaX3kH33V  30  biE  T'JA  X03  2KOITAXO03G  3QAT2 


XXXVIII 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  THE  “CLEOPATRA”  BALLET.  (GOUACHE) 


2XVGE  DEC  OK  V  J„  I O  ]A  ?.  EOK  J.HE  ..CFEOEY.LKV..  BVITEJ/  (GOUVCHE) 

XXXAII1 


XXXIX 

COSTUME  FOR  TCHEREPNINE’S  “ADORATION" 


XL 

COSTUME  FOR  STRAVINSKY’S  “BIRD  OF  FIRE 


A  WANDERING  MUSICIAN'S  COSTUME.  (“WOMEN  OF  GOOD  HUMOUR") 


the  ballet,  a  rebel  at  the  hundred* year-old  tradition  in  vogue  in  the 
imperial  theaters,  who  is  ready  to  offer  himself  body  and  soul  to  the 
cause  of  the  painters  who  take  possession  of  the  theater  as  masters.  Into 
this  renunciation  of  tradition  he  puts  all  the  fervor  of  a  neophyte  and  an 
infinite  measure  of  talent.  What  was  there  that  one  could  not  dare  to 
*  undertake  with  such  a  band  of  the  elite? 


143 


What  followed  is  well  known:  fifteen  times  the  celebrated  “Russian 
Seasons”  have  already  borne  in  upon  Paris  like  shining  waves  breaking 
into  foam. 

It  is  not  for  me  here  to  trace  in  detail  the  fate  of  the  “Seasons”,— the 
transformations  which  they  underwent,  their  successes  as  well  as  their 


FACING  THE  MONT.BLANC.  DRAWING 


failures,  the  latter  oftentimes  being  more  creditable  than  the  successes. 
Whatever  else  may  have  been  their  mission,  certain  it  is  that  they 
brought  two  men  forth  into  fame  and  glory:  Stravinsky  the  musician 
and  Leon  Bakst  the  painter. 

“Cleopatra”  had  caused  extraordinary  surprise.  “Sheherazade”  in  1910 
surpassed  everything.  In  recalling  the  annals  of  the  modern  theater,  it 


144 


is  scarcely  possible  to  recollect  any  production  that  was  given  a  similar 
reception. 

I  had  intended  to  sum  up  the  successive  stages  of  the  fifteen  years 
of  productive  work  accomplished.  Yet  here  I  find  myself,  as  I  face 
my  sources  and  my  documents,  overwhelmed  with  the  almost  magic 


A  VERANDAH.  DRAWING 


abundance  of  the  material,  the  description,  yes,  the  mere  ordered  enu* 
meration  of  which  would  fill  many  a  volume.  These  sources  consist  in 
part  of  numerous  productions  which  maintain  their  place  in  the  theater 
from  season  to  season  without  losing  their  popularity  because  of  the 
ever  present  memories  of  others.  But  on  the  other  hand  we  also  have  the 
“dossiers”  of  these  productions,  —  the  sketches  and  models  of  the 


145 


decorations  and  costumes.  These  sketches  are  without  a  doubt  the  most 
authentic  references.  But  besides  having  value  as  documents  they  possess 
an  intrinsic  value  as  works  of  art.  These  water-colors  or  emphasized 
sketches  are  more  than  mere  guidelines  for  the  scissors  of  the  costume 
maker  or  the  brush  of  the  stage  decorator.  These  statuettes  of  odalisques, 
of  girls  of  the  street,  of  a  marquis  each  have  an  existence  of  their  own, 
each  possesses  an  individual  rhythm.  The  artist  imparts  movement  to 
them— the  whole  dynamic  rhythm  of  the  future  ballet  pre-exists  there 
potentially.  Jotted  down  upon  a  white  sheet  of  Waltmann  they  energize 
and  give  life  to  this  surface.  More  than  that:  they  suggest  the  character 
of  the  particular  role. 

Think  of  the  sensual  passion  of  the  Oriental  dancers  in  pink  or  green  * 
or  of  the  fragrance  of  the  rustic  idyll  that  breathes  from  the  exquisite 
pages  drawn  for  Daphnel  Think  of  the  Gothic  and  mournful  sensuality 
of  Sebastian!  Indeed,  what  an  inspiring  “show  in  an  armchair”  it  is  to 
turn  over  these  pages,  which  are  a  microcosm  of  a  world  come  into 
reality  upon  the  stage! 

To  this  show  I  would  invite  the  reader;  as  for  myself,  I  would  but 
turn  the  pages. 

v  n* 

* 


“Sheherazade”  was  Bakst's  real  debut  at  Paris.  "Cleopatra"  had  been 
a  revival.  It  represented  an  attempt  to  utilize  the  small  ballet  inspired 
by  a  story  of  Theophile  Gauthier’s  and  supported  by  a  mediocre  score 
composed  by  Arensky.  On  top  of  this  score  were  grafted  fragments 
from  Rimsky -Korsakov,  Moussorgsky,  Glinka,  and  Glazounoff  in 
order  to  transform  it  into  an  historic  whole.  Bakst  undertook  the 
thankless  task  of  re-creating  the  unity  of  this  heterogeneous  collection. 
He  created  a  monumental  and  sinister  back-ground,  saturating  the 
Egyptian  granite  with  color.  He  wrought  into  an  harmonious  whole 
the  motley  crowd  of  brown  slaves  with  white  loin-cloths,  the  Greek 
young  men  raising  the  panther  skin  of  Dionysos,  the  captive  Jewesses 
with  somber  hooded  cloaks  punctuated  by  the  white  in  which  their 
single  and  troubled  figure  is  draped. 


146 


r;  w  4:  etches  are  without  a  doubt  the  most 

But  besides  I  g  v alue  as d ocuments  they  possess 

■ks  of  art.  These  water-colors  or.  emphasized 
;  v-<  Jin  ‘  <  .irs  of  the  costume 

* !  v;  -jettes  of  odalisques, 

,  1  vence  of  their  own, 

smarts  movement  to 
ballet  pre-exists  there 
imann  they  energize 
.  biggest  the  character 

the  particular  role. 

s  in  pink  or  green 
the  exquisite 
>ful  sensuality 
chair”  it  is  to 
■  d  come  into 


part* 

. 

. 

of  Sebastian!  Indeed 

reality  upon  the  stage 
To  this  <  how  ’ 
turn  the  pages. 


•  •  • 

*  revival,  .t  -e; 

a  story  of  tee  ph 


I  would  but 


.patra"  had  been 
!  ballet  inspired 
vi  by  a  mediocre  score 
.  re  grafted  fragments 
■  ■a,  and  Glazounoff  in 
Bakst  undertook  the 
rogeneous  collection. 
Kind,  saturating  the 
harmonious  whole 
*  1  cloths,  the  Greek 
‘  captive  Jewesses 
;  in  which  their 


nx 

T3JJAH  ''3UP8ATMAa  aUplTUOfl**  HHT 
SJJOG  HTIW  CIJIHO  3HT 


THE  “BUTTERFLIES"  BALLET.  A  VALET  IN  1850 


£  A  P l LLO  N  $ 


VALBT 


IIIJX 

JHMACI  H'/ITA-HOO-IG 


.823OTVIUH  A 


XL1V 

THE  “BOUTIQUE  FANTASQUE”  BALLET.  A  DOLL 


S1LENUS.  "NARCISSUS  BALLET” 


The  action  which  begins  as  an  idyll  and  which  is  lulled  by  the 
soft  music  of  the  violin  is  suddenly  upset  by  the  strident  notes  of 
the  flutes.  Preceded  by  musicians  who  carry  instruments  of  antique 
and  unusual  design  and  by  solemn  guards,  a  number  of  slaves  carry 
a  long  closed  box  upon  a  litter.  One  side  of  the  palanquin  slides  down 
and  a  mummy  is  revealed,  tall  and  motionless,  whom  the  slaves 
stand  upright  upon  its  feet  encased  in  cothurns  of  sculpted  wood.  The 
slaves,  running  around  her,  free  her  of  the  bandages  in  which  she  is 
wrapped,  and  when  the  last  fetters  have  thus  dropped,  the  queen  steps 
down  from  the  cothurns,  unnaturally  tall,  her  hair  colored  with  blue 
powder.  She  walks  toward  the  regal  couch  and  in  doing  so,  a  nude 


155 


limb  is  revealed,  longer  and  bolder  than  those  of  the  fairies  in  the 
pictures  of  English  pre^Raphaelite  artists.  This  female  being,  this  queen 
is  Ida  Rubinstein. 

It  is  not  the  first  time  in  the  life  of  Bakst  that  we  see  this  haughty 
and  pallid  profile  of  the  implacable  empress  appear.  Several  years 
previously  Bakst  had  adapted  the  stage  setting  of  Sophocles’  “Antigone“ 


A  BROOK  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS.  DRAWING 


to  this  young  debutante,  who  then  appeared  under  an  assumed  name. 
I  clearly  remember  this  unique  production.  And  I  see  again  the  proud 
maiden  as  she  is  wrapped  in  the  numerous  and  complicated  folds  of 
her  black  mourning  robe.  In  working  out  this  conception  Bakst  had 
drawn  his  inspiration  from  a  tombstone  or  else  had  deciphered  the 
clever  pattern  from  the  sides  of  a  Greek  vase. 

Later  this  young  woman  with  her  disconcerting  and  mysterious 
beauty,  this  mystical  virgin,  voluptuous  yet  frigidly  cold,  with  a  will 


156 


RABBITS.  A  SKETCH 


of  iron  underneath  a  fragile  frame,  and  possessed  of  a  haughty  and  cold 
intelligence,  who  dressed  in  eccentric  clothes,  became  one  of  the  Muses 
of  our  artist.  Hers  was  the  gift  of  driving  his  imagination  to  exas? 
peration.  Even  after  many  years  had  elapsed  she  still  held  for  him 
the  allpowerful  attraction  of  the  strange,  of  the  unreal,  of  the 
supernatural.  His  Muse— perhaps  that  is  not  the  right  term:  rather, 
his  Friendly  Demon. 

Having  once  touched  upon  the  chapter  of  the  Muses,  another  female 
image  rises  in  my  mind’s  eye— that  of  Mme.  Marie  Kousnetzoff,  the 
opera  star.  She  is  not  the  white  and  lunar  Lilith;  she  is  the  Eve  of 
the  terrestrial  paradise.  This  Russian  brunette,  with  a  Levantine  face, 
a  blooming  flower  in  human  flesh,  with  full,  muscular  form,  seemed  to 
have  been  created  for  the  very  purpose  of  wearing  the  turbans  and  the 
revealing  veils  designed  by  Bakst.  Those  who  have  seen  her  in  the 
“Legend  of  Joseph’’,  garbed  as  a  Venetian  of  the  Renaissance,  and 


157 


wearing  the  thick*soled  shoes  suggested  to  Bakst  by  the  celebrated 
costume  designer  Cesare  Vecellio,  brother  of  Titian,  will  forever 
retain  this  wonderful  picture  of  the  Biblical  story  of  lust.  Thus 
Mme.  Kousnetzoff  was  the  very  incarnation  of  the  oriental  mirage 
that  many  a  time  haunted  Bakst.  Was  she  his  Muse?  No  —  his 
female  Double! 

But  enough  of  these  parenthetical  remarks!  Why  was  it  that 
“Sheherazade”  established  itself  and  retained  its  place?  Why  was  it 
that  it  could  keep  its  prestige  undiminished,  even  after  it  had  called 
forth  innumerable  imitations  in  a  territory  extending  all  the  way  from 
the  Opera  to  the  meanest  of  suburban  music  halls? 

The  reason  for  it  is  the  fact  that  this  Persian  ballet,  which  adapts  the 
prologue  of  the  “Thousand  and  One  Nights”  to  a  subtle  and  decorative 
score  composed  by  Rimsky *  Korsakoff,  the  eminent  colorist,  is  the 
affirmation  and,  what  is  still  more  important,  the  realization  of  a  great 
principle— the  optic  unity  of  a  production.  The  sides  of  a  large  green 
tent  enriched  with  gold  and  black  encase  and  encircle  the  ladies’  apart* 
ment  which  is  peopled  with  a  crowd  dressed  in  orange,  pink  and  green 
clothes,  who  surround  the  single  royal  jewel,  the  Sultana  Zobeide,  a 
blue  sapphire  in  a  setting  of  rubies  and  emeralds.  Thus  the  costumes 
either  blend  with  the  scenery  in  an  infinity  of  fine  shades  and  gradations 
of  value  that  have  been  carefully  studied  out,  or  they  contrast  with  the 
scenery  in  accordance  with  the  visible  logic  of  complementary  colors. 

Is  the  result,  then,  a  ballet?  It  is  a  living  scenery  with  interchangeable 
elements. 

Was  I  going  to  speak  of  optic  unity?  Do  I  mean  by  it  that  unity 
stops  at  the  surface?  Certainly  not!  This  ardent  and  cruel  magnificence 
of  color,  this  effluvium  of  sensuality  which  emanates  from  the  setting 
produces  an  action  in  which  the  very  excess  of  passionate  ecstacy 
can  only  be  satiated  by  the  spilling  of  blood.  This  harmonious 
giddiness,  this  measured  paroxysm  seems  to  recall  the  title  which 
Maurice  Barres  gave  to  a  famous  book:  “Concerning  Blood,  Sensuality, 
and  Death.” 

“Sheherazade”  remains  as  the  model  work  in  Bakst’s  oriental  sphere 
of  endeavor;  neither  he  himself  nor  his  competitors  surpassed  it.  But 


158 


XLV 

A  PAGE.  (“ALADIN”  BALLET) 


eaor. I*  i  thick*soied  shoes  suggested  ; :  ikst  bv  the  celebrated 
,c  designer  Cesare  Vccelbc.  <>J  Titian,  will  forever 

story  of  lust.  Thus 
•  1  of  the  oriental  mirage 

remarks!  Why  was  it  that 
,heh  *  It  id  retained  its  place?  Why  was  it 

o  ;  ui, minished,  even  aftc  it  had  called 

tending  ill  he  way  from 
Is? 

a  t  ,  v*  hith  adapts  the 
ubtle  and  decorative 
went  colorist,  is  the 
ization  of  a  great 
:s  of  a  large  green 
e  the  ladies’  apart* 
ge,  pink  and  green 
Sultana  Zobeide,  a 
Thus  the  costumes 
shades  and  gradations 
or  they  contrast  with  the 
of  complementary  colors. 
It  is  a  living  scenery  with  interchangeable 


score  .  ■  .  .  b 

affirm 
principle 
tent  er 


optic,  unity?  Do  I  mean  bv  it  that  unity 
.i,  i  not!  This  ardent  and  cruel  magnificence 
•vc  isuality  which  emanates  from  the  setting 
>.  .ire  very  excess  of  passionate  ecstacy 
e  spilling  of  blood.  This  harmonious 
'  !  i.vwsm  seems  to  recall  the  title  which 
m  «■  nook:  “Concerning  Blood,  Sensuality, 

f be  mode!  work  in  Bakst  s  oriental  sphere 
s  r»  pen?  surpassed  it.  But 

VJX 

(T3JJA3  "HICIAJA‘*)  .30 A3  A 


PA(V: 


^  s&Stt $  /Sw  5 

•  u  *>41  l*H 


XLVI1I 

DELPHI  (GOUACHE) 


DEn.HI  (GOf.VCHE) 

xr/.m 


\ 


\  i  I  v 

\ 


POPULAR  BATHING  AT  LIDO 


round  about  this  luminous  center  other  visions  of  hashish  radiate  forth: 
“Thamar”— a  Cleopatra  in  Georgian  style,  a  symphony  in  blue  major; 
“The  Blue  God”,  a  Hindu  fairy-tale;  “Peri”,  more  recently,  “Alladin”, 
and,  only  the  other  day,  “The  Adoration.”  Astonishment  takes  hold  of 
one  as  one  tells  the  large  pearls  oh  this  necklace  that  is  worthy  of  the 
funeral-pile  of  Sardanapalus.  Turn  over  the  pages  of  the  ballets  that 
I  have  cited  and  look  for  the  sketches;  if  you  are  in  possession  of 
the  magic  word  of  Ali-Baba,  force  open  the  sesame  of  the  Museum 
of  Decorative  Arts  in  which  are  jealously  guarded  the  most  beautiful 
of  these  sketches;  and  you  will  find  how  justified  was  the  saying  of 
the  late  Josefin  Peladan,  “Bakst,  the  Delacroix  of  the  Costume.” 

Consider  the  wisely  arranged  orgy  of  “Sheherazade”,  (for  Bakst  has 
this  supreme  gift  that  great  masters  possess,  of  being  concerned  about 


167 


the  smallest  button  on  a  legging  at  the  same  time  that  they  are  getting 
a  whole  army  to  march)  and  in  this  whole  eruption  of  vigorous  colors 
you  will  not  observe  the  slightest  suggestion  of  white.  There  is,  never* 
theless,  in  the  work  of  Bakst  a  whole  corner,  enveloped  in  sunshine, 
in  which  the  white— shining  and  serene,  virginal  and  fresh— dominates 
resolutely. 

The  sensual  within  him  is  duplicated  by  the  romantic.  We  saw  this 
come  to  the  fore  for  the  first  time  in  the  “Fairy  of  the  Dolls”;  Schumann’s 
“Cameval”  revealed  the  “white  Bakst”  to  the  Parisians.  They  never 
grew  tired  of  these  adorable  puppets,  sentimental  and  crafty,  who  glide 
over  the  floor  to  the  musical  text  of  Schumann  like  the  dolls  on  the 
cover  of  a  music  box.  Harlequin  and  Pierrot,  Chiarina  or  Colombine — 
they  are  not  merely  endless  masks  costumed  in  the  styles  of  1830,  with 
furbelows  and  coiffures  in  ringlets;  they  are  the  incarnations  of  that 
playful  and  exquisite  Viennese  spirit;  they  are  the  descendants  of  Mozart 
and  of  Haydn.  And  the  cut  of  their  hazy  cambrics,  their  whole  bearing 
is  in  “Biedermayer”  style— that  quaint  and  charming  style  of  bourgeois 
romanticism  in  the  Germany  of  old.  In  order  not  to  crush  these  fragile 
and  delicate  beings  with  the  four  walls  of  reality,  as  they  flitted  like 
butterflies  about  the  stage.  Bakst  removed  all  stationary  decoration:  a 
background  of  drapery,  a  couch  set  off  against  this  background — that 
was  all.  Nothing  encumbers  the  view  nor  impedes  the  imagination  of 
the  spectator  as  he  is  enticed  by  the  graceful  or  ironical  episodes  of  the 
play  to  picture  to  himself  a  ball  room  or  a  boudoir  or  a  park. 

If  the  costumes  of  “Papillons”,  which  was  connected  with  Schumann’s 
“Carneval”  by  Fokine,  who  discovered  a  certain  aroma  and  dynamic 
rhythm  common  to  both,  are  a  continuation,  so  to  speak,  of  the 
style  of  costumes  employed  in  the  first  ballet,  the  “Spectre  of  the 
Rose”,  on  the  other  hand,  carries  us  almost  without  our  noticing  it 
over  to  the  land  of  France.  The  music  is  by  Weber,  the  German  com* 
poser  who  captivated  Gerard  de  Nerval,  but  it  receives  its  orchestral 
form  at  the  hands  of  Hector  Berlioz,  and  the  text  is  supplied  by  two 
lines  from  Theophile  Gauthier,  who  had  already  inspired  “Cleopatra” 
and  the  “Pavilion  d’Armide”  by  Benois.  This  young  girl  in  white 
flounced  gown  belongs  more  to  Achille  Deveria  and  Eugene  Lamy 


168 


WOMEN  OF  GOOD  HUMOUR”  BALLET.  THE  VALET  NICCOLO.  (GOUACHE) 


than  to  Franz  Krueger  or  Kriehuber;  the  ball  from  which  she  returns 
might  be  the  ball  at  Sceaux  of  Honore  de  Balzac;  this  night  which  filters 


169 


through  the  glass  door  is  a  night  in  France;  this  dying  rose  which  is 
impersonated  by  the  divine  ephebe  Nijinsky  is  a  rose  of  France.  The 
young  girls  of  times  gone  by,  about  whom  the  gentle  Francis  J amities 
dreamed,  would  not  be  displeased  at  this  airy  pavilion  with  white 
wainscoting  and  white  furniture  in  which,  on  the  wall  paper  of  blue 
cobalt,  white  bouquets  are  scattered  about.  Into  this  virginal  quietude 
of  soothing  colors,  detaching  itself  from  the  sombre  verdure  of  the 
background,  the  human  flower  projects  itself— a  flower  of  purplish 
pink,  feverish  and  consumed  with  amorous  languor.  The  setting  for  a 
comic  opera,  “The  Secret  of  Suzanne”,  develops  the  same  theme  more 
in  detail. 

This  brief  catalogue  of  Bakst’s  romantic  cycle  would,  however,  be 
incomplete  were  I  not  to  mention  the  costumes  of  the  “Boutique 
fantasque”  which  is  in  fact  chiefly  a  sketch,  but  more  centered,  more 
pointed,  more  compressed  than  the  “Fairy  of  the  Dolls”  which  marks 
the  beginning  of  Bakst’s  career.  This  was  a  memorable  enterprise,  for 
it  was  marked  by  the  collaboration  of  two  great  artists:  the  dolls 
by  Bakst  perform  evolutions  against  a  background  painted  by 
Andre  Derain. 

We  have  already  seen  how  Bakst  discovered  the  tragic  and  magnifh 
cently  barbaric  Greece  of  pre^Hellenic  and  ante^European  times  which 
he  brought  to  the  stage,  by  designing  stage  settings  the  rude  grandeur 
of  which  formed  a  fit  background  for  the  growing  despair  of  Antigone 
or  for  the  doom  that  overwhelmed  Oedipus.  Once  again  he  brings 
out  all  the  anguish  in  the  fear  of  the  ancients,  the  primitive  hysteria 
of  people  bewildered  by  the  cruel  play  of  unfathomable  forces — the 
hot  wind  which  blows  from  the  Asiatic  desert  and  which  leashes  the 
blood  almost  into  insanity,  the  triumph  of  Eros  in  the  midst  of 
fratricide  and  horror.  He  staged  this  “Helen  of  Sparta”  by  Verhaeren 
for  Mme.  Rubinstein— this  play  in  which  a  great  modern  poet  incarnates 
his  intent,  violent  and  prophetic  soul  in  the  characters  of  a  legend  which 
had  already  absorbed  the  Grand  Old  Man  of  Weimar.  The  return  of 
Helen,  however,  which  for  Goethe  had  been  the  symbol  of  restored 
and  re^born  classical  antiquity,  to  the  Flemish  poet  seemed  a  passionate 
and  terribly  human  dilemma  hidden  under  an  archaic  guise. 


170 


XLIX 

GALISSON,  PRINCE  CHARMANT’S  TUTOR  LOUIS  XIV  BALLET 
(PAVLOVA  TOURNEE).  GOUACHE 


the  m  a.  i  mg  n  France;  this  dying  rose  which  is 

,  v  v  x  ) uskv  is  a  rose  of  France.  The 

roe  gentle  Francis  Jamifles 
pavilion  with  white 
wall  paper  of  blue 
-  'in a!  quietude 

*  r  re  verdure  of  the 
ewer  of  purplish 
r  The  setting  for  a 
same  theme  more 


.  -  d  however,  be 
the  “Boutique 
centered,  more 
.  s  which  marks 
e  enterprise,  for 
ists:  the  dolls 
d  painted  by 

igic  and  magnifb 
>ean  times  which 
>  e  rude  grandeur 
t  of  Antigone 
igain  he  brings 
imitive  hysteria 
able  forces— the 
•  hich  leashes  the 
>  m  the  midst  ot 
wi  a”  by  Verhaeren 
.  ■  Tern  poet  incarnates 
rs  of  a  legend  which. 
f  '  oar.  The  return  of 
symbol  of  restored 
ned  a  passionate 
o  • !  »ic  guise. 


XIJX 

T3JJA3  VIX  8IUOJ  30TIJT  2'TOAMXAHO  30MIXA  .H022IJA0 
3HOAUOO  .(33MHUOT  AVOJVA3) 


L 

THE  BIRD  OF  FIRE  (ANOTHER  VERSION).  GOUACHE 


LI 

THE  “BOUTIQUE  FANTASQUE”  BALLET.  THE  ENGLISHWOMAN 


LII 

THE  “BOUTIQUE  FANTASQUE”  BALLET.  THE  ENGLISHMAN 


- 


STAGE  DECORATION  FOR  •'LACHETE" 


Now,  Bakst  designed  a  bare  and  harsh  setting  for  the  martyrdom 
of  Helen,  who  is  condemned  to  be  coveted  unto  death  by  all  who  come 
in  contact  with  her:  the  ground  reduced  to  lime,  stones  that  have  a 
burnt  smell,  heavy  gates  of  the  royal  fortress,  smoke  of  woodpiles — in 
short,  everything  in  this  volcanic  landscape  is  a  latent  menace. 

This  grim  and  desolate  face  of  Hellas  is  seen  for  the  last  time  in  an 
act  of  “Daphnis  and  Chloe”  where  one  sees  the  pirates  dancing  a  war? 
dance  among  the  steep  declivities  of  the  red  rocks.  But  how  sweet  is 
the  idyll  which  they  disturb!  All  that  there  is  of  Ionic  sweetness 
envelops  this  pastoral  scene.  I  know  nothing  in  the  entire  work  of 
Bakst  that  is  equal  to  these  tender,  fresh,  damp  greens  of  the  meadow 


179 


and  of  the  forest  where  the  two  children  walk  about  displaying  the 
charming  torment  of  love  that  knows  nothing  of  itself.  It  is  a  sketch 
for  the  first  act,  but  in  it  lies  all  of  the  Greece  of  Theocritus,  of  Moschus, 
and  also  of  Andre  Chenier’s  Aoristys.  Thus  the  short  novel  by  Longus 


PROJECT  OF  A  CRYSTAL  CUP 


which  had  already  inspired  the  painter  Pierre  Ronnard  to  draw  the 
lithographs  which  constitute  the  lyric  flower  of  his  work,  live  once 
more  through  the  brush  of  the  great  Russian. 

The  mythological  world  had,  besides,  already  been  displayed  in 
another  work  of  Bakst’s,— “Narcissus”.  The  setting  is  unique:  in  the 
foreground  is  a  spring  bordered  by  large  somber  rocks  and  shaded  by 
branches  of  trees  which  droop  into  a  brook  of  emerald.  Through  an 


180 


GOGOL'S  "NOSE  ".  AN  ILLUSTRATION 


opening  of  the  rocks  one  sees  a  meadow  upon  which  a  tropical  heat 
lies  heavy.  The  natural  bridge  over  which  we  presently  see  the  nymph 
Echo  pass  lamenting  and  garbed  in  a  mourning  robe  of  violet,  forms 
the  second  tier,  raised  above  the  scenery  of  the  foreground  in  much  the 
same  manner  as  one  sees  it  raised  in  the  stage  settings  of  Torelli  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  or  as  one  also  sees  it  in  the  “Parnassus”  of  Andrea 


181 


Mantegna  at  the  Louvre.  And  it  is  the  vivacious  and  manycolored 
figures  of  the  Greece  on  the  terracottas  that  monopolize  the  scene, 
clad  in  fresh  and  simple  colors— blue  and  green  that  match  with  the 
color  of  the  sky  and  the  forest,  lemomyellow  and  brickced  that  form 
patches  on  the  short  white  tunics. 

Bakst  reserved,  however,  for  the  “Afternoon  of  a  Faun”,  the  pastoral 
poem  for  which  Debussy  received  his  inspiration  from  a  poem  by 
Stephane  Mallarme,  his  attempt  at  solving  the  paradox  of  setting  forth 
upon  the  stage  the  authentic  rhythm  of  the  figures  that  keep  turning 
forever  on  the  sides  of  Greek  vases.  The  background  is  an  old  forest; 
a  convenient  hill,  on  which  the  Faun  reclines,  narrows  the  platform 
and  leaves  only  a  small  proscenium  free.  On  this  proscenium  the 
dancers  project  themselves  in  profile,  dressed  in  long  tunics  with  frilled 
folds  like  the  fluting  of  an  Ionic  column.  Moving  on  a  single  elevation 
they  convey  the  idea  of  having  but  two  dimensions  like  the  arabesques 
that  decorate  a  surface. 

Bakst  does  not,  however,  allow  himself  to  be  imprisoned  in  this 
threefold  domain.  His  imagination  is  forever  travelling  along  thousands 
of  crossing  paths.  And  quite  willingly  he  stops  at  the  great  crossroads 
of  civilization,  where  hostile  worlds  confront  each  other  and  establish 
themselves. 

Of  such  a  character  is  the  exuberant  “Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian”, 
where  the  Rome  of  Heliogabalus,  closed  about  by  Asia,  conveys  to 
us  both  the  naiveness  of  the  mediaeval  mysteries  and  the  imagina? 
tion  of  the  Quatrocentrist  painters.  Again,  there  is  “Pisanelle”, 
another  French  work  from  the  pen  of  Gabriele  d’Annunzio.  It  is  a 
poem  of  the  Mediterranean,  in  which  the  Latin  West,  feudal  and  mystic, 
clashes  with  the  rigid  and  solemn  Byzantium,  while  the  imperishable 
perfume  of  Hellas  rises  from  the  land  of  Cyprus  from  which  Aphrodite 
sprang  forth. 

It  would  take  volumes  to  enumerate  all  the  pictorial  elements 
in  these  productions,  and  even  then  one  could  not  construct  a 
component  whole. 

But  the  large  architectural  outlines,  the  clusters  of  small  black  and 
gold  columns  which  form  the  portal  for  the  “Jeu  delaSainte  Courtisane”, 


182 


LIII 

STAGE  DECORATIONS  FOR  THAMAR" 


'  '“-l0US  an<^  manycolored 

.  •  monopolize  the  scene, 

and  bricksred  that  form 

rte;  noon  of  a  Faun”,  the  pastoral 
aspiration  from  a  poem  by 
r  the  paradox  of  setting  forth 
the  figures  that  keep  turning 
k ground  is  an  old  forest; 
narrows  the  platform 
this  proscenium  the 
g  tunics  with  frilled 
>n  a  single  elevation 
ike  the  arabesques 

dUi 

mprisoned  in  this 
g  along  thousands 
the  great  crossroads 
other  and  establish 


V  lorn  of  St.  Sebastian”, 
>ut  bv  Asia,  conveys  to 
:s  and  the  imagina* 
i ,  s  Agam,  there  is  “Pisanelle”, 
cn  of  Gabriele  d’Annunzio.  It  is  a 
.  .  i>  ,  h  the  Latin  West,  feudal  and  mystic, 
,  iri  P»\zantium  white  the  imperishable 
,  1  <  •  :  s Cyprus  from  which  Aphrodite 

numerate  all  the  pictorial  elements 
iu*n  then  one  could  not  construct  a 


)•  -i  tv  ■ ...  outlines,  the  clusters  of  small  black  and 
tl K'  portal  for  the“Jeu  dela Sainte Courtisane  , 


iiu 

"HA//.AHT  H(H  gHOITAaODHQ  ill) AT?. 


LV 

THE  “BOUTIQUE  FANTASQUE”  BALLET  “LA  POUPfiE  AUX  DENTELLES 


ivj 

(3HOAUOO)  .("3I8IATMAT'  A)  3MUT8Q3  H33CJOM 


BAKST 

I  Oil. 


A  WOMAN  LYING.  TOUCHED  UP  DRAWING 


the  enormous  twisted  columns  in  the  “Conseil  des  faux  Dieux”,  over 
whom  Sebastian  triumphs — these  impress  themselves  indelibly  upon 
one’s  memory. 

This  architectural  conception,  the  best  possible  setting  for  the  actor 
and  for  the  “round  relief”  which  the  human  body  forms,  especially 
determined  the  grandiose  and  graceful  setting  for  the  ballet  “The 
Sleeping  Beauty”,— this  French  masterpiece  born  of  the  soil  of  Russia 
which  is  fertile  in  miracles.  In  this  work,  the  production  of  which  was 
reserved  for  London,  Bakst  returns  squarely  to  the  surprises  afforded 
by  extraordinary  short-cuts,  to  the  harmony  of  masses  that  are  organized, 
to  the  magic  play  of  stage  elevations  raised  in  tiers,  to  the  severe 
splendors  of  linear  perspective. 

We  see  him,  after  a  century  of  realistic  still-life  deception,  taking  up 
again  the  work  of  the  great  decorators  and  architects,  of  the  geometricians 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  POET  JEAN  COCTEAU 


of  theatrical  vision,  whether  their  names  be  Gonzaga  or  Bibiena,  whether 
Sanquirico  or  Ciceri. 

This  masterpiece,  concerning  which  the  author  of  these  lines  has 
written  a  book,  is  a  free  “capriccio”  of  the  Great  Age  when  Tiepolo 


192 


{ 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  DANCER  M. 


brushed  elbows  with  Mansart.  “Artemis  troublee”,  a  ballet  produced 
at  the  Opera  during  the  spring  of  the  present  year,  is  a  graceful 
mythological  play  springing  from  a  similar  set  of  ideas. 

I  am  far  from  having  exhausted  the  plentiful  material  of  these 
innumerable  works,  for  during  almost  a  quarter  of  a  century  Bakst  has 


193 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  PAINTER  GOLOVINE 


initiated  numerous  productive  ideas.  He  discovers  new  veins  but  is 
ever  ready,  after  a  few  blows  with  the  pick^axe,  to  abandon  them  to 
those  who  follow  him. 

Is  it  not  he  who  dares  introduce  the  modern  sportive  costume  to 
the  lyric  stage  as  a  decorative  and  expressive  element?  Remember 
the  “Jeux”  which  he  undertook  with  Nijinsky!  And  was  not  this  vogue 
for  things  Venetian  of  the  eighteenth  century,  for  the  Venice  of  Pietro 


194 


L  VII 

PORTRAIT  OF  IDA  RUBINSTEIN 


v  jew  veins  but  o 

ever  read  atu  t  abandon  them  t« 

those  who  follow  hitr 

rtive  costume  t< 

c  ^  rrsent?  Rememh. 

u  hi:  •*  •  i  •• '  y  v as  not  this  vog ut 

.  Venice  of  Pietro 


IIVJ 

KI3T2VnarJ51  AQI  HO  TlA>lT>lO‘l 


Lvm 

A  CALL  (POSTER  FOR  AN  EXHIBITION  AT  VIENNA).  (GOUACHE) 


V 


THE  COMPOSER  BALAKIREV.  DRAWING. 
(THE  TRETIAKOFF  MUSEUM.  MOSCOW) 


Longhi  and  of  Guardi,  this  vogue  for  beauty  and  for  the  fan  called  forth 
by  his  exhilarating  “Women  of  Good  Humour”  in  which,  with  the 
greatest  unconcern,  Baskt  exchanges  the  toe?slippers  of  the  pasha  with 
the  red  shoedieels  of  Giacomo  Casanova? 


203 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  MARCHESA  CASATI 
TOUCHED  UP  DRAWING 


And  lastly,  was  not  his  intervention  decisive  in  bringing  about  a 
transformation  of  feminine  costumes? 

These  sketches  of  gowns  constitute  an  epoch  in  the  history  of 
fashion,  and  they  afford  an  access  to  painters  into  this  domain  from 
which  they  have  been  excluded  ever  since  the  days  of  Gavarni.  For 


204 


SKETCH 


Bakst  is  more  than  an  a  solitary  creator.  He  is  an  inspirer  whose  influence 
radiates  forth  over  a  huge  periphery.  How  numerous  are  the  aspects 


205 


SKETCH 


of  modern  life  that  bear  Bakst’s  indelible  seal,  which  is  a  label  of 
greatness  and  which  confers  an  air  of  nobility  in  which  one  is  never 
mistaken! 

These  are  the  things  of  which  I  am  thinking  as  I  turn  over  with  you, 
my  readers,  the  pages  of  this  book.  And  as  we  have  finished,  we  must 
begin  again— this  time,  however,  in  silent  meditation,  which  is  even 
more  gratifying. 


206 


LX] 

PORTRAIT  OF  THE  POET  ANDREI  BELY.  CRAYON  AND  PENCIL 


modem  u(e  that  hear  Bakst's  .  ’H  which  is  a  label  of 

■  iid  which  confers  an  ar  t\  in  which  one  is  never 

L  *^rt  things  of  which  I  am  tin  k  ;  :  as  I  turn  over  with  you, 
f*few> the  PW' »  of  this  book.  And  as  we  have  finished,  we  must 

n  r!  '  time  however,  in  silent  meditation,  which  is  even 

®Of‘  gratifying, 

20t 


IXJ 

JI3M33  CIWA  AOYAUD  .Y J3H  I3HQ/.A  T303  3HT  30  TIAflTflOS 


LXII 

A  PORTRAIT 


fiAKfT 


LXIIJ 

PORTRAIT  OF  THE  BOY  Z.  RED  CHALK 


I 


AHHToaoa  .TajJAa  "huomuh  aooo  ho  mhmow**  hht 


7 


EPILOGUE 


PROJECT  FOR  EMBROIDERY 


BAKST  AND  RUSSIA 


We  have  followed  Bakst  through  each  of  the  fields  with  which  he 
was  familiar,  whatever  their  nature.  Each  road  in  this  labyrinth  of 
styles  brought  us  back  to  the  native  land  of  the  artist.  Throughout, 
the  exotic  or  “Eurasiatic”—  to  use  a  word  coined  by  a  group  of 
Russian  dreamers  in  exile— dominated.  For  the  common  herd  Bakst 
is  over  and  above  all  the  creator  of  an  oriental  fairyland.  Even  his 
very  name,  monosyllabic,  quickly  pronounced,  and  cutting  like  the 
blade  of  a  Turkish  simitar,  seems  to  call  up  a  fleeting  but  intense 
vision  of  Asia. 


217 


i 


Bakst  was  bound  forever  to  disconcert  the  lovers  of  convenient 
formulas.  You  think  you  have  caught  up  with  his  jerky  and  lightning* 
like  course,  when,  lo!  he  has  already  escaped,  to  the  delight  of  one  of 
the  “four  winds  of  the  spirit”.  There  remains  in  your  hand  the  sixth 
skin  of  the  serpent  which  it  divests  itself  of — only  to  clothe  itself 
again  in  the  seventh. 

Recently,  in  the  spring  of  1922,  we  witnessed  a  new  avatar  of 
the  artist.  Ten  years  previously  he  had  left  his  fatherland  for  a  new 
fatherland  that  was  more  hospitable  —  for  France.  Now,  under  a 
splendid  impulse  of  piety,  of  tender  homesickness,  of  filial  love  he 
returned  of  his  own  accord  to  his  Mother  —  Russia,  bruised,  trampled 


\ 


218 


mulas.  You  think  vou  have  caught  up  with  his  jerky  andilightning* 
\  °  tc<  ur^  1  he  has  already  escaped,  to  the  delight  of  one  of 

the  four  winds  of  the  spirit  \  There  remains  in  your  hand  the  sixth 
skin  or  the  serpent  which  it  sts  itself  of— only  to  clothe  itself 

Recent*  ,■  m  rhe  p*ing  of  1922,  we  witnessed  a  new  avatar  of 
'  '  **  Prex  *v  he  had  left  his  fatherland  for  a  new 

5  r  e  hospitable -for  France.  Now,  under  a 

r-  -Im  of  y,  of  tender  homesickness,  of  filial  love  he 
‘  '  •  dother- Russia,  bruised,  trample* 


VXJ 

HHOAUOO  .(3KIXM3TOS  Y8  HOT 3X2)  "WAMOW  TVIA2A3T  A“ 


LX  VII 

COSTUME  FOR  “LE  CHANTRE  ET  LA  DEVOTE" 


» 


LXVIII 

COSTUME  OF  PEASANT  WOMAN  FOR  POTEMKINE’S  “VILLAGE” 


DRAWING  OF  COVER  FOR  THE  BOOK  "RUSSIAN  EX.LIBRIS" 


upon,  dragged  into  the  mud  and  blood  by  infamous  villains.  When 
all  the  world  deserted  her,  he  watched  by  her  bedside. 

Chance  had  it  that,  at  the  very  moment  when  Alexander  Benois’ 
masterpiece,  “Petroushka”  was  produced  at  the  Opera,  a  mimic 
drama  by  Bakst  was  played  on  the  scanty  stage  of  the  Femina  theater 
entitled  “Lachete”.  Between  these  two  surprising  plots  lies  nothing 
less  than  a  half-century  of  Russian  history— the  fall  of  a  throne  and 
of  a  world. 

The  “burlesque  scenes”  of  Benois  seemed  like  the  final  blossoming- 
out  of  ancient  Petrograd,  like  a  nostalgic  vision  of  the  imperial  city, 
called  forth  by  an  ardent  lover  of  an  abandoned  past.  A  mob  of  people, 
truculent,  jeering,  deafeningly  noisy,  with  an  exuberant  movement  of 
cheerfulness,  monopolizes  the  stage;  a  forceful,  manifold,  strikingly 
lively  rhythm  constitutes,  properly  speaking,  the  action.  In  the  rigid 
and  stiff  scenery  of  the  fated  city,  popular  fancy  has  erected  its  paradise 
of  outlandish  hovels,  its  blue  and  red  “balagani”,  in  the  open  air. 
Personages  from  the  prints  at  ten  kopecks  and  from  the  pictures  of 
Epinal  come  to  life  again  and  bestir  themselves;  comely  “nounous” 
strut  about  and  try  to  attract;  with  noisy  clatter  of  boots  bearded 
coachmen  hasten  the  step  of  their  squatting  dance.  Russian  rural  life 
for  one  last  time  spends  itself  in  these  Slavic  saturnalia.  Even  the 
dolls  which  are  the  protagonists  of  the  grotesque  drama  try  to 
shake  off  their  mechanical  torpor.  They  would  like  to  become  flesh 
and  blood;  they  have  a  hungry  desire  to  live;  at  times,  indeed,  they 
really  do  live. 

The  action  of  “Lachete”,  likewise,  is  staged  at  St.  Petersburg  which, 
however,  has  become  Petrograd — but  not  in  the  clear  sunshine  of  a 
winter’s  day;  rather  within  the  concrete  walls  of  the  “People’s  House” 
which  the  last  of  the  Czars  erected  to  the  glory  of  the  modern  capital. 
Here  the  wooden  horses  are  moved  by  powerful  dynamos  under  the 
searching  light  of  electric  lamps.  But  what  has  become  of  the  mob  in 
“Petroushka”,— the  motley,  varied  crowd?  The  doll,  the  artificial, 
mechanical,  automatic  puppet  has  dispossessed  the  human  being;  it 
gets  the  better  of  the  disabled  actor.  There  remains  enough  soul, 
however,  in  this  changed  world  to  supply  the  bodies  of  five  human 


228 


beings;  and  what  a  soul,  good  God!  Nothing  in  these  puppets  reminds 
one  of  the  smiling  indifference  of  “Petroushka”.  We  are  on  the  eve 
of  terrible  happenings,  and  we  feel  it  with  sadness;  a  dull  ennui 
weighs  upon  us  heavily,  like  the  low  cloud  before  a  storm. 


229 


Ah!  we  are  now  in  the  Petrograd  of  1916!  How  can  we  express  all 
the  trickiness  in  the  apathetic  inertia  of  these  figures  that  are  scarcely 
articulate,  that  are  uniformly  costumed  and  that  skip  about  or  sink 
down  at  the  will  of  their  wires  that  direct  them?  Before  this  pliability, 
this  evil  passivity  of  shapeless  puppets,  this  cynical  swaying  motion  of 
impotent  figures,  this  “dance  of  death”  of  inertia,  the  mimicked  action 
vanishes,  and  living  men  disappear.  The  drama  of  the  passion— death 
which  passes,  hideous  and  sneering,— becomes  pallid  under  the  gaze 
without  eyes  of  hostile  faces. 

How  the  inevitable  closes  about  us!  Everything  in  this  atmosphere 
of  anguish  and  of  hallucination  becomes  a  latent  menace.  The  day  is 
near  at  hand— one  feels  it  with  one’s  whole  soul,  nervous  with  fear— 
when  this  mass,  inert,  blind,  crushing,  will  hurl  itself  upon  quivering 
Russia. 

Happy  the  blond  student  in  green  blouse  who  finds  death  as  he 
pursues  a  dream  of  love;  he  will  not  see  it.  He  will  not  know  hunger 
or  exile  or  disgrace.  Who  of  us  Russians  would  not  envy  him? 

Such  were  the  two  faces  of  Russia  which  were  exhibited  by  two 
painters  who  are  more  than  painters, — Benois  who  has  the  power  of 
retrospective  divination,  Bakst  who  possesses  an  understanding  of 
modern  life  and  of  its  tumultuous  forces. 

But  behold!  the  curtain  which  has  just  fallen  on  the  bristling,  rough, 
malicious  scenery  of  “Lachete”,  rises  once  more  to  unfold  before  our 
eyes  a  third  Russia — a  Russia  debonair  and  drunken,  ignorant  and 
full  of  spirit. 

The  vaudeville  act  “Old  Moscow"  depicts  a  rich  and  opulent  city 
of  merchants  wearing  their  kaftans,  of  free  carousals,  of  a  jovial 
savagery.  Two  frames,  reaching  to  the  knees  of  the  actors,  form  the 
stage  setting.  On  them  is  a  miniature  reproduction  of  the  orphaned 
capital  with  its  forty  times  forty  cupolas,  encircled  by  the  crenelated 
walls  of  the  Kremlin.  And  amidst  this  delightfully  exaggerated 
parody  of  a  stage  full  of  moujik^bourgeois,  we  see  funny  human 
beings,  overbubbling  with  good  health,  moving  about  dressed  in  wide, 
stiff  skirts  that  are  sky-blue  or  trbcolored;  likewise  country  women 
weighing  a  hundred  kilos. 


230 


The  thing  that  is  of  importance  above  everything  else  in  this 
caricature  composed  without  any  masked  thought  is  that  aroma  of  the 
land  which,  even  in  its  funniest  moments,  makes  the  tears  come  to  the 
eyes  of  Moscow  emigres. 

Today  Bakst  is  completely  absorbed  by  this  forgotten  world  which 
rises  about  him  on  a  background  of  a  distant  past.  He  is  consumed 
with  an  appetite  for  Russian  memories,  emotions  and  visions.  Each 
day  in  his  studio  a  population  of  Russian  figures  keeps  multiplying — 
models  and  groups  of  which  not  only  their  costume  but  their  very 
attitude  has  something  indefinably  national  about  them,  something 
profoundly  popular,  in  short,  something  authentic.  And  to  what 
purpose?  The  artist  as  yet  does  not  know.  Once  the  actors  are  placed 
upon  the  stage,  he  says  to  himself,  the  play  will  start  spontaneously. 
And  in  pursuing  his  enormous  and  unceasing  labors  he  lets  things  take 
their  course  without  hastening  them.— 

We  have  accompanied  Bakst  up  to  his  last  station.  It  is  time,  there? 
fore,  for  this  sketch  to  end.  The  writer  takes  leave  of  his  readers  and 
descends  into  the  audience  in  order  with  his  readers  to  await  the  rising 
of  the  curtain  for  the  next  act  of  the  most  beautiful  of  plays:  the  life  of 
a  grand  and  noble  artist. 


231 


CONTENTS 


TEXT 


The  Story  of  Leon  Bakst’s  Life.  Preface  ....  13 

The  Yellow  Drawing  Room .  15 

The  Ungrateful  Age .  18 

The  Two  Sphinxes .  32 

A  Wrong  Start  .  40 

The  Club .  48 

Mir  Iskousstva .  56 

The  Three  Knocks .  77 

The  Theban  Gate .  89 

Terror  Antiquus . 107 

The  Spiral  Road . 110 

A  Show  in  an  Armchair . 132 

Epilogue.  Bakst  and  Russia  . 217 


235 


PLATES 


Portrait  of  Bakst  by  Modigliani . '  .  .  I 

‘‘Chastising  Cupid”,  project  of  decorative  panel  ....  II 
D’Annunzio’s  ‘‘Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian”, 

Mme  Rubinstein  in  the  5th  act .  Ill 

Judith  of  Bethulia  (panel) .  IV 

“Forsaken  Chloe”,projectof  decorative  panel.  (Gouache)  V 

Portrait  of  Mr-  T.  (red  chalk) .  VI 

“Modern  dress”  (a  “fantaisie”) . VII 

“Daphnis  and  Chloe  parting  in  the  evening”,  sketch  for 

decorative  panel.  (Gouache) .  VIII 

“Sheherazade”  ballet.  First  Eunuch.  (Gouache) .  IX 

An  inferior  deity.  ’’Narcissus”  ballet.  (Gouache)  ....  X 
Stage  decorations  for  ballet  “Orientales”.  (Gouache)  .  .  XI 

A  Negro’s  costume  (Sheherazade) . XII 

Stage  decorations  for  Oscar  Wilde’s  “Salome”.  (Gouache)  XIII 

„ Phaedra”  tragedy.  Phaedra’s  nurse .  XIV 

Stage  decorations  for  Hindu  ballet.  (Gouache)  ....  XV 


237 


Mme-  Ida  Rubinstein  as  St.  Sebastian .  XVI 

The  imperial  palace  (“The  Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian”)  XVII 
Mme-  Rubinstein  in  “The  Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian”  XVIII 
The  “Women  of  good  humour”  ballet.  Rinaldo. 

(Gouache) .  XIX 

Stage  decorations  for  "Phaedra”  (Gouache) .  XX 

A  costume.  “Narcissus”  ballet .  XXI 

The  Pilgrim  (“Blue  God”  ballet).  Gouache . XXII 

Stage  decorations  for  act  4th  of  D’Annunzio’s 

“St.  Sebastian”.  (Gouache) . XXIII 

The  Czarevitch’s  costume  ('The  Bird  of  Fire”)  .  .  .  XXIV 
Project  of  stage  decorations  for  ^Sleeping  Beauty”  .  .  XXV 
Stage  decorations  for  the  vault  scene  (“St.  Sebastian”)  XXVI 
'Terror  antiquus”.  First  golden  medal.  1911  Uni? 

versal  Exhibition  (Brussels) . XXVII 

'Terror  antiquus”  (detailed) . XXVIII 

Submarine  monsters  (“Sadko”  opera).  Gouache  .  .  XXIX 
Stage  decorations  for  the  ballet  “Women  of  good 

humour”  (second  version).  Gouache .  XXX 

A  bacchanalian  dance  (Joseph)  by  R.  Strauss  .  .  .  .  XXXI 


Mr  Nijinsky  as  "Blue  God".  (Gouache) .  XXXII 

The  red  Sultana .  XXXIII 

The  pink  Sultana.  (Gouache) .  XXXIV 

The  yellow  Sultana.  (Gouache) .  XXXV 

Stage  decorations  for  the  "Blue  God” .  XXXVI 

Stage  decorations  for  act  3rd  of  Verhaerens’s  "Helen 

of  Sparta".  (Gouache) . XXXVII 

Stage  decorations  for  the  "Cleopatra”  ballet  .  .  XXXVIII 

Costume  for  Tcherepnine’s  "Adoration” .  XXXIX 

Costume  for  Stravinsky's  „Bird  of  Fire” .  XL 

The  "Boutique  fantasque”  ballet.  The  child  with  dolls  XLI 

The  "Butterflies”  ballet.  A  valet  in  1850  .  XLII 

A  huntress.  Decorative  panel .  XLIII 

The  "Boutique  fantasque"  ballet.  A  doll .  XLIV 

A  page  ("Aladin”  ballet) .  XLV 

A  page  in  Louis  XIV’s  style  ("Aladin”  ballet)  .  XLVI 
The  Empress  Elisabeth  Petrovna  hunting.  (Gouache)  XLVII 

Delphi.  (Gouache) .  XL VIII 

Galisson,  Prince  Charmant’s  tutor.  Louis  XIV 

ballet  (Pavlova  tournee).  Gouache .  IL 


The  Bird  of  Fire  (another  version).  Gouache .  L 

The  “Boutique  fantasque”  ballet.  The  Englishwoman  LI 

The  “Boutique  fantasque”  ballet.  The  Englishman .  .  LII 

Stage  decorations  for  “Thamar” .  LlII 

“Sadko" .  LIV 

The  “Boutique  fantasque"  ballet.  “La  poupee  aux 

dentelles" .  LV 

Modern  Costume  (A  “fantaisie”).  Gouache .  LV1 

Portrait  of  Ida  Rubinstein . LVII 

A  call  (Poster  for  an  exhibition  at  Vienna).  Gouache  LVIII 

A  living  model.  Red  chalk  and  chalk .  LIX 

The  “Boutique  fantasque”  ballet.  An  Italian  doll  .  .  LX 
Portrait  of  the  poet  A.  Bely.  Crayon  and  pencil  ...  LX  I 

A  portrait .  LXII 

Portrait  of  the  boy  Z.  Red  chalk . LXII  I 

The  “Women  of  good  humour"  ballet.  Dorothea  .  .  LXIV 
A  peasant  woman  (Sketch  by  Potemkine).  Gouache  LXV 
A  peasant  woman  (Sketch  by  Potemkine).  Gouache  LXVI 

Costume  for  “Le  chantre  et  la  devote" .  LXVII 

Costume  of  peasant  woman  for  Potemkine’s  “Village"  LXVIII 


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